


I Will Not Close My Eyes

by RoseHeart



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Happy Ending, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:11:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 36,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseHeart/pseuds/RoseHeart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What could happen much later than the events from ADWD...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And Where You Invest Your Love, You Invest Your Life

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! This is my first time posting (so I am still figuring out the kinks) and I am very nervous because I am a fan of all the writers here. But I figured since we will be trying to fill in the time until Season 4/TWOW, I would try to provide some distraction.  
> I own nothing and I know nothing.
> 
> This first chapter is a prologue of sorts.

The Present

Brienne sat on the edge of the window, starring out into a lonely courtyard of King’s Landing. One hand brushed her hip where her sword typically lay and the other tugged at the light fabric that clung to her chest. She felt vulnerable, an emotion she had come to accept and bury, but Gods, she also felt scared. The fear had begun deep in her belly when she had realized she could not fight her way out of this. It had tried to consume her with the thought that the dread was not for herself.

  
The door swung open with a creak, causing her to spin around and stand against the wall, her weight shifting to the balls of her feet while her muscles coiled like springs. Tyrion Lannister stood in the doorway with a tray of hard cheese, bread, sausage, and water. He grinned when he saw her in a state of flight.

  
“You may be able to jump right over me, My Lady, but the two guards beyond this room will not let you get far.” As if to emphasize the statement, Brienne’s Dothraki gaoler leaned inside to shut the door. She heard the bar slide fluidly back into place.

  
“I am well aware of the level of my captivity. There is no need to remind me of it.” Brienne reached for the knife on the tray that Tyrion had brought to cut the food. She dragged her callused thumb along the side, inspecting its edge.

  
Tyrion snorted. “ Go ahead and try to use that. I have a sharper tool between my legs.”

  
“Why are you here, Tyrion?”

  
The Imp sat himself down at the small table in her cell. There was a stuffed bookcase across the corner and two novels were strewn idly on the small cot against the window. He gestured to one of them while he tore off a chunk of bread. “ _The Annals of the First Men_? I never took you for a historian.”

  
“I assume you provided me with the reading.” Brienne wanted to roll her eyes at him, sitting so casually, looking well dressed in crimson and gold. She felt a fury rise up, one that had been growing as she paced the small room for days.

Tyrion offered her his attempt at a shy smile. “Why, Brienne, that would mean that I _cared_ about your mental state, that I thought you might actually _live_ through this ordeal.”

  
“You are mistaken in thinking that _I_ care if I live through this, Imp,” Brienne stabbed the dull knife straight into the table, as close to Tyrion’s hand as her anger allowed. She shook with frustration, but when she straightened, she had regained her calmness. “What is going to happen to Ser Jaime?”

  
“Her Grace is keeping me in the dark as much as you-“

  
“Do not take me for a fool. I know that Varys revealed to you at least some of his secrets. You know all of what is going on in the Keep.”

  
Tyrion sighed. “I may know something if she _spoke_ to someone about her judgment but Queen Daenerys is keeping her own counsel on this subject. Brienne, I owe you my life and while I am tired of paying off my debts, I do not wish to see you suffer. But my dear brother is still the Kingslayer.”

  
Brienne pulled herself into the seat across from Tyrion. She glared hard into those mismatched eyes, trying to find the compassion that sometimes surfaced behind the permanent smirk. “He is Jaime Goldenhand-“

  
“To the men who fought next to him. How will the Queen appear to Westeros if she does not take vengeance against the man who murdered her father? We have been over this.”

  
“Then let me talk to Daenerys.”

  
“I am trying to convince her to see you, but I think she fears that all of her resolve will melt when she stands infront of her friend, held in a cell, begging for the life of a man who has proven his honor.”

  
Brienne stood. “All the more reason to make her see me. You owe me that much, Imp. ” Her fists were clenched and her jaw was set. In the loose linen pants that floated down to her feet and the sheer tunic that dipped low, Brienne looked more like a Dothraki than a high born Westerosi lady. Tyrion looked as if he found himself regretting bringing even the dull knife that was still vibrating gently in the table. He had to get on the chair to pry it from the wood. Brienne simply crossed her arms and watched him. “I will hunt you down if he dies.”

  
Tyrion forced a smile as he gestured at her with the knife. “You are not in a position to be threatening anyone, Wench.” He backed up to the door and rapped on it just as Brienne lunged for the tray and threw it at him.

  
“Get. Out!”

 

 

*************

Tyrion slipped behind the burly guard, this one from Deepwood Motte, who opened the door. He did not miss the hard visage of Brienne drop and the look of despair cross her scarred face as tears sprang to her clear blue eyes. The expression was suppressed quickly, though, and as the echo of the door closing reverberated down the hall, Brienne was staring blankly back out of the window. _Damn that girl_ , Tyrion cursed as he waddled down the stairs of the tower. _Who is the greater fool, though, her for loving that man or me for believing in her?_


	2. Then I Heard Your Heart Beating, You Were In The Darkness Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little background on how Brienne came to be in a cell in King's Landing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who read/commented on the first chapter!!!  
> I may need a beta. Let me know if this jumping around and answering some questions and creating more gets to be confusing.  
> LOVE!

Eight Months Earlier. During the Darkness. 

Oathkeeper was becoming a dead weight in Brienne’s hands.  Her mind was only focused on mustering enough strength to bring it up across her body and slice once more.  Parry.  Thrust.  Block.  Cut.  She tried not to look at their faces.  They had been as careful as they could to burn the bodies but some had left the battlefield before they could get to them.  Dead, icy eyes bored into her, but fear had been long replaced with anger.  She wanted them all gone.  She wanted her revenge.  She wanted to sleep.

She whirled away from the wight she had easily cut through with the Valyrian steel and threw off her helm.  Her breath frosted in the blackness and her eyes darted between the pits of fire that dotted the bleak landscape.  She was far from the safety of their heat and could not even see the torches on the towers of Winterfell.  But the clang of metal and the cries of men, dead and living, were sharp in her ears.

“Pod!” She yelled.  “Back to the fires!Brienne spotted her squire ahead of her and made to follow when a form stepped into her path.  It was taller even than her and the icy blue stare that it gave her rooted her to the spot.  A white walker.  She raised Oathkeeper again but she tasted bile in her throat and the blade trembled slightly in her grasp.  The white walker brought its own sword to meet hers with a force that she had never expected and it was all she could do to block it.  The impact ran up her arms and caused her to step back.  It made to strike her again, but once more she kept her distance.  Icy eyes glared at her as it craned its neck to howl in her face.  It seemed to want to make a quick end to her, but Brienne had no intention of letting it get close enough to succeed.  Though she could not tire the beast, she could trap it.  Another move and Brienne was able to push their swords away and yank her dirk from her belt.  She buried it in the white walker’s side before it could come around to block her.  With its free hand, the creature smashed its fist against her nose.  The cold that seeped through her body from the contact left her gasping.  She shook her head to try to clear the ringing in her ears, but it only made her stumble.

“Ser Jamie! She is there!” Somewhere Pod was shouting. 

She went to one knee as the white walker wrenched her knife from its ribs.  That gave her time to swing Oathkeeper across its legs and cut them both at the kneecaps.  She scrambled to her feet as the white walker fell, making sure to stay clear of its flailing sword.  Her dirk, however, the white walker tried to plunge right between her legs.  It missed and landed the blade deep into the ground.  But, then it looked up at her with cold, blue eyes and laughed.  It laughed.  And laughed.  And laughed.  Brienne raised Oathkeeper above her head and brought it down on the white walker’s neck.

“What is so funny now?” she scowled.

“Brienne!” The sound of Jaime’s voice, panicked and strained, sent a jolt of fear through her belly.  She sheathed Oathkeeper and looked around for him.  He was pushing Pod away, gesturing back to the camp, before running towards her.  His emerald eyes were not on her, though, but were worriedly staring at her feet.  Brienne looked down to see the ground splitting where the dirk had been imbedded.  Gods, she was standing on ice! “Run, you stupid wench!”

Brienne ran.  She could hear the sound of the cracks spreading in every direction and occasionally, her boots would slip into nothingness, but she dared not look behind her.  Jamie was still heading towards her and she waved him away, calling “Get back!”

He ignored her, of course, and he came up on her just as the crevasse began to widen.  His left hand reached for hers and his right arm slipped around her waist.  She clung to the sides of his armor and buried her face in his neck just as the ground slipped away from her feet.  They fell for what felt like days until the cold, dark ground came up to catch them.  Brienne cried out as she felt sharp pain running through her leg, but then the breath was knocked from her lungs and she could only wheeze as tears filled her vision.  Jamie’s hand was still in hers but it was limp.  She could not hear his breathing.

Brienne looked up to where they had fallen through.  The light of the stars did not even reach down here but as she clung to consciousness and the warmth of Jaime’s hand, dark wings blotted out the stars.  She trembled and tried to sit up.  That only sent the pain through her torso and she became light headed.  As the darkness pulled her down, the world above turned to nothing but a sheet of fire.     

 

********

 

Shafts of warm, steady light woke Brienne.  She could feel a sweet heat upon her face that she had never felt from the burn of the fires.  Her eyes opened to watch dust float across the room, illuminated by the rays of brilliant sunshine that filtered through sheer curtains floating against a soft breeze.  She gasped at the sight and sat up quickly.  A moan escaped her lips as her blood rushed to her head and her wounds screamed at her to be still.  She tried to lift her right hand to her forehead but her shoulder and upper arm were wrapped tightly to her chest.

Brienne swung her legs to hang over the side of a large bed, plush with pillows and furs to keep her warm.  Her right leg was splinted from her ankle to her knee and tight linens were bound around her thigh.  She wore a dark shift that fell to her feet and covered her left arm in a sleeve while leaving her right side exposed above her breast.

She surveyed the room, which looked to be in one of the remote and rebuilt towers of Winterfell.  A fire roared in a hearth she could have stood in, but besides the bed, there was little furniture in the room.  Brienne hobbled along the rushes to a table where Oathkeeper was propped up.  Her armor, cleaned and carefully packed, was in a chest next to the sword.  At least that meant that Pod was well, she thought.

With some difficulty, Brienne was able to secure her swordbelt across her hips and make her way to the terrace.  Sunlight, rich, vibrant, sunlight surrounded a world of pale snow and crisp blue skies.  Brienne choked back a sob as she stared out across Winterfell.  She had thought her days would end in the Darkness, that she would never see the sun again.  Then she remembered the dark wings she had seen as she struggled to maintain consciousness.  _Could she have come?_

“Brienne…” She turned at her name to see Jaime hovering at the entrance to the terrace.  Without thinking, she took a step towards him and her hand hovered to take his shoulder but she felt the blood rising to her neck and she shifted her gaze to his body as she dropped her hand.  He was wearing breeches and boots and his legs moved assuredly as he went to lean against the wall and cross one ankle over the other.  But his shirt was loose and she could see bandages and dried blood on his chest.  His stump was back in a sling and a strip of linen was wrapped around his golden head to cover his left temple.   He caught her surveying him.  “No worse than you look, wench.  But we are both in one piece.”

Brienne scowled and this time she did grab him, just for a moment, to apply angry pressure to his uninjured forearm.  “Why, you fool?! You had to run the other way! We could have both died!” She threw her hand from him and turned back towards the sunlight, gripping the stone of the terrace and refusing to look at him.  She felt him move beside her, though.

“You die, I die, remember? You told me that before you fought against Stoneheart’s men for my life.”

“There was no one to fight when you fell into that crevasse with me, Ser.”

Jaime shrugged.  “There would have been no one to fight _for_ if I had not.”

Brienne felt a new fire begin in the pit of her stomach and she cast uncertain eyes to look at him.  _Gods, he is beautiful.  What am I going to do?_ Jaime grinned and the fingers of his good hand moved to grasp two of her left.  Brienne thought she would burn from the inside as his green eyes bored into her and his breath tickled against her bare shoulder.

Behind him, she saw Sansa Stark enter the room with Tyrion Lannister, Pod, and a few retainers.  Sansa spotted them on the terrace before Brienne could take a full pace away from Jaime.  The others came upon them with a friendly distance between the two and Brienne midway in a bow.  “My Lady. My Lord.”

“Ser Jaime,” Sansa swept past him to slip a delicate hand through Brienne’s uninjured arm.  “You should have called us immediately once you had found Lady Brienne awake!”

“My apologies, dear Lady,” Jaime gave Sansa his most charming bow and mischievous grin.  “It is rare to find Brienne in a dress and I suppose I was keeping the sight to myself.”

Brienne shifted slightly, but she was used to this type of behavior and she knew he was waiting for her reaction.  “Please, Lady Sansa, what has happened? I fell in Darkness and wake in the light.”

Sansa pulled her back inside and onto the bed.  As maids helped to prop her up with pillows, Sansa elegantly seated herself on the edge while Jaime and Tyrion sat across from each other at the table and Pod positioned himself by the door.  “Queen Daenerys sent her dragons to our cause.  They reigned fire on the white walkers and when it was over and they sat on the towers of Winterfell, I could hear all the wolves in the north howling.  Calling.  And the dragons called back.  They shot fire into the sky and-and behing the flames from their breath, the sun _rose_.”

“So, then it is over?” Brienne frowned and turned toward Tyrion.  The Imp had been uncharacteristically quiet.

“What is _over_ , Brienne?” Tyrion sighed and poured himself a glass of wine.  “We have two dragons attempting to nest on a turret, injured men and women and restless soldiers to house and feed, and a summons to return to King’s Landing.” He pulled out a parchment from his doublet and brandished it in the air.  “Daenerys took Drogo and her men and sacked the South.”

“And _who_ is she demanding to see?” Brienne glanced over at Jaime, who was watching her with a blank expression.  She saw the vein on the side of his neck work as he clenched his jaw, though, and she knew his thoughts.

Sansa spoke up before Tyrion could say something. “Brienne, you are now in charge of Stannis Baratheon’s men and the false king and his red witch are locked up in one of the cells at the Wall.  There are also enough men here, sworn once to the Lannisters and now to Winterfell, that could threaten Her Grace’s new hold on the center of Westeros.  She is being cautious.”

“Cautious? We are her friends.  We helped her get into Westeros and now we have to scurry back to her as if we are children that ran away from home?”

Tyrion and Sansa exchanged looks, but Jaime was the one that spoke. “Ah, wench, you were never good at the game of thrones.  Daenerys is being pressed by her new advisors to keep the leash on the Kingslayer from getting too long.  Here I am, sitting with two dragons and ten thousand men and one woman who can summon dark magic.”

Brienne threw the covers off of herself and got to her feet.  The others stood as well, but Sansa had to move fast to support Brienne before she plunked back onto the mattress.  “Fine.  We will go to King’s Landing, but not Jaime.”

“Oh, sure.  That will not look suspicious if we go to Daenerys with an army and her dragons, but the man who killed her father slipped away.” Tyrion rolled his eyes.

“She has been in Ser Jaime’s company many times.  She could have ordered him beheaded at any point.”

“She was amongst men of the Free Cities and those sworn to trust her judgment.  Daenerys may not want to kill Jaime, but she must prove herself in Westeros and dragons alone will not impress all of the lords.”

“Stannis Baratheon’s head and the wealth of Casterly Rock will.”

Brienne looked desperately to Sansa and Jaime, but the Lady of Winterfell only bit her lip and shook her head.  Jaime stepped towards Brienne and, despite the situation, her breath hitched at his proximity.  He reached out to brush his fingertips on the hilt of Oathkeeper.  “We will all go to King’s Landing.  Winterfell, Tarth, Dragonstone, and Casterly Rock will bend the knee to Daenerys Targaryen.  And so will I.”


	3. When You Love Somone, But It Goes To Waste, Could It Be Worse?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and commenting on my previous chapters!!! You have boosted my confidence to keep going with this story. That being said, PLEASE keep an open mind while reading this chapter and trust me! Any comments will be much appreciated!  
> LOVE

The Present

When the cell door creaked open, Brienne did not even bother to turn around.  She gazed out as far into the distance as she could and tried to recall how long she had been locked up in this room.  _A month, I would think.  At least the sun shines straight through the window so that I may remember its warmth before I die_.

“I have no more need of arguments, Tyrion,” she said as she heard the door close and lock.  “I would prefer to have died with a sword in my hand, but I will welcome my fate.  Leave me be.”

“You will yet get the chance to have an honorable death, My Lady,” Jaime rasped behind her.

She whirled around and threw her arms across his shoulders.  She held him so tight, she felt his breath strain but his arms around her waist were just as fierce.  It was over in a second, though, as Brienne realized how bold she was being and quickly pushed herself away.  She turned back to the window to hide the blush that was creeping up her cheeks.

“What a sad view.” Jaime’s voice contained the hint of a smile. “I have your old cell when last we were in King’s Landing together.  The sun upon the sea makes it almost worth being locked up…Almost. But like you, I am ready for my fate and I am tired of sitting up there all alone.”

Brienne looked at him and frowned.  “And what is our fate, Ser?”

“Not the same, thank the Gods.” Jamie sat down and surveyed her.  Daenerys had been sending up the same type of garb that she most likely thought that Brienne would be comfortable in.  While pants and tunics were welcome, the sheer fabrics from the Free Cities made Brienne feel naked and cold.  It seemed as if the sun would have to shine for years to warm the world again and even in King’s Landing, a bone chilling wind still howled most of the day.  Brienne had taken to wearing tight leather breaches and thick boots laced up to her knees under the loose pants.  She also wore a leather vest over the billowy tunics.  With Jaime’s emerald gaze on her, though, it felt like she was in nothing at all.

Jaime, however, looked every bit a Lannister.  He wore blood red breaches tucked into fine leather boots folded back at the calf.  Over his tunic, he wore a gold surcoat with red lions running down the arms.  His beard was freshly trimmed and his golden hair was pushed away from his face and tucked behind his ears.  As much as a lord as he seemed, the attire worried Brienne.  _Why would the Queen wish to flaunt the Kingslayer?_

“Do you know what is to happen?”

“Daenerys came to see me the other night,” Jaime started.  He seemed hesitant to continue.  He stood to be infront of Brienne and when she tried to back away, he caught her shoulder in his hand.  His eyes sought out her blue ones before he went on.  “I will be executed on the morrow-“

“No!” Brienne broke away from his grasp but she looked at him as if he were a wight. “Her Grace would never-“

“Her _Grace_ had no choice, wench.  The Kingslayer cannot live.  He must be punished.”

“There are other ways!” Brienne hated herself for sounding like such a foolish girl.  She wanted to cry, to make him tell her it would be alright, but her eyes remained dry and she kept her distance.  “We will go to the Wall.  Or you can stay here as her captive. Or you could renounce your name and title and disappear.”

“Those don’t have the same affect as my head on a spike for all of Westeros to see,” Jaime replied.  “But I will not have yours next to mine.”

Brienne could have hit him, then.  “You die, I die, remember?”

Jaime shook his head sadly and tried to reach for her again.  “That was a pact my sister and I made.  It didn’t really work out for us and I should have never joked about it with you.  No, Brienne, you have the more difficult fate between us.  You must live.  You will live and serve Daenerys.  You will live and rule Tarth.  You will live and take care of Myrcella and Tommen.”

“I know nothing of raising children, Jaime, and what good is ruling Tarth if I have no heirs to pass it to?”

“It would please me if you gave it to _my_ children.  Maybe one day they will no longer be wards of the Dragon Queen and they will have some place to call home, someplace away from the game of thrones, and they can look upon the ocean in peace. But at least for now, they will have someone to call family.”

 “Tyrion-“

 “My brother loves those children, but would you have him tell them stories of their father and mother?”

 Brienne looked down at her feet.  “I will go with you and make them take me too, just like I did before,” she whispered.

“I know, My Lady.” Jaime moved to her and cupped his hand under her chin.  He forced her to look at him once more while he let his thumb graze her ruined cheek.  “Which is why you will be locked in this cell until it is over.”

“No!” Brienne clutched at his tunic and shook him.  But he just smiled, though it did not reach his eyes, and placed his arm around her waist.  He pulled her close to him so that Brienne was sure he could feel her heart beating fast.  Her skin pulsed at the spots where Jaime was touching her, sending her muscles into a skipping rhythm across her chest.  She could not breath.  When he moved to press his lips behind her ear, she felt the room explode into pinpricks of light.  She tentatively moved her body closer to his and he took her weight and pulled her tighter.  His hand was clutching her thin tunic, his warmth seeping through the linen, reminding her of all the times that he had shared that heat with her and bringing her to the thought that she may never feel it again.  As Jaime let his fingers dance up to her neck, she drew enough courage to pull back and look at him.  The emerald eyes were dull and resigned.  The only time Brienne had ever seen that gaze was after the death of Cersei.  This time, her own loss was mirrored in those jade jewels, wet with tears unshed and words unspoken.

Brienne leaned in so that her trembling mouth was within a breath of Jaime’s.  She squeezed her eyes closed and waited.  After only a moment, she felt plump, dry lips take hers.  Jaime pulled at her lower lip and grazed her upper one, alternating between the two.  She tried to return the sweet pecks, attacking his mouth and pulling back quickly.  But soon his hand was fully entwined in her hair and the pressure forced her into a firmer kiss.  She wound her arms around his neck and buried her own fingers in Jaime’s soft tresses.  She had never imagined they would have felt so soft and comforting.  She let out the smallest of sobs, but it was swallowed by Jaime’s warm mouth.  He tried to coax her jaw open with swipes of his hard tongue on her parted lips.  When she complied, he only flitted around her front teeth, but she heard a soft groan escape his throat.  Despite the fear of shattering the moment, Brienne let her tongue reach out to meet Jaime’s.  This time, she mewled when he entangled his with hers and followed it back into her mouth.  She thought that he was pulling all the pain and happiness from their time together and would leave her nothing but a shell.  She nipped and worried his lower lips before running her tongue along Jaime’s teeth.  He was pulling her so close, she was bent back and had to wrap her leg around Jaime’s to keep her balance.  _Let him forget his words.  Let him take me with him.  Let me die_.

Then he stepped away.  The loss of contact made her feel empty enough that tears sprang to her eyes.  She wiped them away before he could see them, though.  Jaime’s hair was tousled, his lips swollen, and he was breathing as if he had sprinted up the tower.  The smile on his face now reached his eyes, but Brienne could not even manage a small one in return.

“Jaime, I lo-“

“No, Brienne,” he stopped her and went to the door to have one of the guards open it.  “Once you say it, you will be lost and I already am.” He went back to her for one more quick kiss and then he was gone.

This time, when the bolt on the door echoed through the cell, Brienne fell to her knees and wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SORRY! It is so angsty! BUT, there is a happy ending and there is so much more to go...?  
> I am going to go hide.


	4. A Revelation in the Light of Day, You Can't Choose What Stays and What Fades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot properly express how much each of your comments has meant to me!! And a special thank you to Ro_Nordmann for the banner!!!  
> Back into the past we go and next chapter will be about the aftermath of Jaime's death.

Two and a half years eariler.  Before the Darkness.

Jaime willed the creaking cage to reach the top faster.  His gloved fingers clutched the bars, but while the brothers peered over the edge to watch the white world disappear in swirls of powdery ice, Jaime kept his gaze at the blue sky above him.  The wind cut through the men, penetrating layers of fur and wool to stab at their vulnerable skin.  One of them cursed and Jaime could not say it was not himself.  He instinctively moved farther into the cage, but that only brought his back up against the Wall.  He could see his dark reflection twist in the ice, the sun casting images that bounced off the sheets as if it were a mirror.  _Gods, I look old_.  Jaime had let his hair and beard grow in the attempt at warming his face.  The young recruits of the Night’s Watch had taken to calling him Grandfather Lion.  The men that had followed Jaime and Brienne from the South to the Wall and those that they had released from the service of Stannis Baratheon chose to hail him as Goldenhand.  Brienne attempted to quell both names, but was unsuccessful.  Jaime, however, had accepted them as he had accepted all of his other titles and was taken with the one that they had bequeathed to Brienne.  _Lady Oathkeeper_. 

Jaime smiled thinking of the title.  Stannis Baratheon could attest to the wench keeping her vows.  He remembered finding the man kneeling infront of Brienne, the shimmering black and red steel of her sword remaining steady at his throat.  Only a fool more rigid and stubborn than her would agree to single combat, risking his men and his fragile hold on the North.  Brienne had appeared tired and there were certainly cuts beneath her armor, but Stannis Baratheon’s sword hand was hanging limp by his side and a deep slash on his cheek was sending blood coursing down his face.  Jaime had been concerned that the Red Witch would kill them both instantly, but she had been staring at Brienne’s sword as if it was at her own throat and she quailed whenever Brienne was near her.  So, both of them were tucked nicely into one of the ice chambers in Castle Black and their forces had bent the knee to Tarth.  Neither Stannis Baratheon nor his red witch would be seeing into any warm fires for a long time.  Yet, Melisandre had sent him a disturbing message, flames or no.

As the cage lurched to a stop, the gate swung out.  Jaime placed his heavy boots onto the top of the Wall.  Ice and snow spiraled in the constant wind, mingling with the cloaks of the brothers that were working the cage.  As soon as Jaime moved further away, his own heavy cape began twisting about his ankles.  He shivered, stamping to ignore the bitter cold, and cast his eyes down the long stretches of ice that ran to his right and his left.  Every few feet, the walls of the walkway would disappear and a narrow lip would separate a watcher from the open sky on either side of the Wall.  Bundled up in fabric and hunched over from the cold, it was nearly impossible to tell one brother from another.  He tried to spot one that was unnaturally taller than the rest.

“She is farther down, Goldenhand,” said the brother at the winch, bobbing his head to the left.  “I think she was looking for some quiet.  Can’t bloody understand why.  The quiet is not so peaceful anymore.”

Jaime thanked him and headed down the Wall.  Watchers nodded to him, some of them clapping a hand on his shoulder or back, while a few would point further down, guiding him to Brienne without him asking.  He found her standing in an opening where the Wall turned slightly, providing some reprieve from the howling wind.  She was at the southern side, the sun shining on her upturned freckled face, eyes closed.  Jaime took a moment to take in the sight of the hulking wench buried in the black furs and clothes of the Night’s Watch.  Their own winter clothes had not been enough for the indescribable chill of the Wall so, they had to take whatever the Watch could spare.  Some of the Wildlings had also provided them with provisions, but the stories that they told of what lay beyond the Wall was enough to send their bones into a deep frost.  Despite the cold, Jaime noticed that Brienne had left her waist fairly bare so that she could fit her sword belt around her hips.  Her hand rested lightly on the hilt of Oathkeeper.

“Something is wrong,” she murmured without looking at him.  Her voice was raspy and raw, not from emotions, but from fatigue and pain.  As she turned to Jaime, he could just make out the faint purple line that cut across her neck, just as the noose had, before it was covered in fur again.  Not for the first time, Jaime had the urge to yell at her for being so mulish.  _She should never suffer for a wretch like me_.  Brienne was too honorable, too innocent, too pure to be standing beside him.  Yet every time Jaime dared to look, she was at his side.  And he hated himself for seeking her out if she was not.  _Let the girl go.  She should not share your fate_.  Yet here he was, finding her once again.

“Thank you for asking, wench, the climb _was_ invigorating,” Jaime drawled.  He leaned up against the Wall, arms crossed.  “No, of course I have not spent the past hour looking for you.  That would be silly since you _always_ tell me where you are going.”

Brienne was red from the wind, but Jaime could still see the blush creeping up her neck.  She tended to do this when Jaime showed any sort of concern for her.  He had made it a point to make her blush at least once a day.  “I-I had a dream.”

“Oh? And what was it about this dream that caused you to hide from me?”

A year ago, such a comment would have made Brienne turn pale and stutter.  Now, she simply looked at the ground, the softest of smiles flickering across her face, making her scar pucker.  Then, she frowned and peered at the sun, sitting heavy in the hazy sky, like a bloated water skin.  “There was a boy trapped in the roots of a tree.  He-he looked at me with a crow’s eyes and he said…I heard him say-“

“Winter is coming.” Jaime finished for her.  Brienne’s blue eyes shot up to try to read his face.  He sighed.  “Melisandre had a similar vision.  She sent for me this morning.”

“What does it mean, Jaime?”

“If the Red Woman is right, then it means that this will be the last day we will see for a long time,” Jaime did not want to say _ever_ , but he knew they were both thinking it.  “Everyone here in the castle has warned us, wildling, brother, and soldier.  It seems we have arrived just in time to be on the front of something much greater than this silly little power struggle for a throne.”

Brienne absorbed his words, her prominent teeth jutting from her swollen mouth to worry her lower lip.  She moved once again to let the warmth of the sun turn her pale skin to porcelain.  Jaime found himself trying to memorize how she looked in that moment.  Her short hair was flying wildling about her head, rays of light setting the straw to strands of gold, casting her face in a glowing crown.  The cold had turned her cheeks to crimson splotches, causing her blonde freckles to splatter across her white face like mud.  They stopped where fresh, tortured skin had attempted to grow over the jagged bite mark under her eye.  When Brienne looked at him, his heart lurched at the sight of her clear sapphire pools, pulling him in and drowning him.  For an absurd second, he thought that he would not miss the blue sky as long as she looked upon him in the Darkness.

“Brienne,” he murmured, barely heard above the whine of the wind.  He reached out his left hand to her tentatively.  She clutched his upper arm and Jaime grasped her elbow lightly, not wanting to frighten her.

“We need to return to Castle Black and prepare the men,” Brienne said.  Her voice shook, but her jaw was set.  “And we must get word to Winterfell as soon as possible.  Sansa will be faster at getting ravens out to the others.”

“Yes,” Jaime sighed.  He let go of her.  “We have duties, as always, My Lady.” As he turned to make his way back down the walkway to the cage, Brienne snaked her gloved hand to his to pull him back.  Without thinking, Jaime wrapped his arms around the taller woman, bundling her into his chest as much as he could.  She bent slightly so that her head was nestled on his shoulder and her forehead was pressed up to his chin.  Her own arms were circling his waist, hands splayed against his upper back.  Jaime was not sure how long they stood with as much of their bodies pressed against one another as they could.  It was too short, he knew, and yet long enough to sustain him through the nights that were to come.  When they descended the Wall, they would be Goldenhand and Lady Oathkeeper.  They would instill hope and confidence in the men and they would not falter.  But, for now, they were simply Jaime and Brienne.  The Kingslayer and the Maid of Tarth.

Jaime watched as their icy breaths swirled together in the frosty air and were torn apart again by the violent wind that howled over the Wall.  He clutched Brienne’s furs tighter, hoping to feel the presence of the lean body beneath the wool and furs.  He prayed, then.  He prayed to whatever gods would hear him at the end of the world that this would not be the last time that he held Brienne.


	5. This Will Be My Last Confession, "I Love You" Never Felt Like Any Blessing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have attempted a Sansa POV. I am not sure if I have really captured her character, but I admit I have created her to be what I need her to be for this story. This may be a little bit of a boring chapter since nothing happens. It sets up what happens in the past, though!

The Present

Sansa had left King’s Landing before Queen Daenerys sentenced Jaime to death.  She had fought with Tyrion too many times to think that the judgment would be any different.  Despite the Imp’s soothing words and promises of salvation, Sansa would watch his mouth twist on Jaime’s name.  She knew little about the bad blood between them, but she was no longer so innocent as to miss the divide seperating the two brothers.  While Jaime had tried to ignore that he was a Lannister, Tyrion had come to welcome it as a dying man opened his arms to a quick death.  _And a Lannister always pays his debts_ , she thought.  When she received the raven at Winterfell about Jaime’s death, she could only imagine the content look at Tyrion’s face.  But Brienne… _poor, brave girl_.

Sansa sighed and looked up at the gates to the Red Keep once more.  It had been seven moons since the execution, which the letter said had been done privately, out of respect, and Jaime’s head had sat atop the King’s Gate for only a week before it and his bones were sent to Casterly Rock.  A new raven had come from King’s Landing begging her counsel as Warden of the North.  It was an honorable title but it had been bestowed upon her for her “bravery during the War of Darkness” while Jaime and Brienne had been locked into separate towers.  Sansa knew that Arianne Martell would be present as Warden of the South and Asha Greyjoy would represent the West.  She wondered if Daenerys had chosen women of Westeros purposefully or if there was a subconscious mistrust in men.  She could not blame her if there was. 

However, the Warden of the East never came and Sansa knew to expect Ser Addam Marbrand as his envoy.  Her Grace’s choice for who would govern the East seemed more of a careful plot of Tyrion’s than a political selection made by the Queen.  There were only rumors and speculations about the Warden.  His identity was a mystery since he attended court in full Westerosi armor and no one could claim to have seen him without a helm.  The West humored the notion of an enigmatic Warden since Her Grace declared the faceless knight represented Westeros’s newfound presence in the East.  It was believed by many that he was a bastard, whose mother was a highborn lady of the West and his father was a wealthy aristocrat of one of the Free Cities.  The intrigue surrounding the knight, if it even was a man, had secured him the favor of most of the societies in the East, each one claiming to hold the father of now one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the Free Cities. Sansa was more inclined to believe that there were only paid sellswords behind the armor, whose strings were pulled by Tyrion, since he had little care for returning to the Free Cities himself.  This way, he had Casterly Rock, the ear of the Queen, and all of the East.   

Sansa had hoped to see Arya climb down from the Eyrie for a visit and for support, but the death of Jaime had left a bitter taste in her sister’s mouth as well and she was less subtle about her feelings on matters.  It may be best that she stay away from the Dragon Queen for a while.  Perhaps she would turn towards the Vale on her way back to Winterfell and convince Arya to come back home to see Rickon.

For now, however, Sansa pulled her wolf skin cloak tighter around herself and set her face towards the Iron Throne.  Retainers came to take her horse and members of her household busied themselves with bringing her things to her wing of the Keep.  She kept only Ser Daavos with her.  He had been a gift, of sorts, from Brienne.  When she had captured Stannis and the men swore to Tarth, the Onion Knight and the Maid had become friends.  Brienne had not wanted to see the man thrown into irons with his king, nor did she think it best for him to join the rest of the men in King’s Landing.  So, Brienne had offered his services to Sansa and she had found his company and counsel to be invaluable.  She hoped seeing the two of them may brighten Brienne’s mood.  The letter, written by the Hand Ser Barristan Selmy, had also mentioned the health of a “fellow knight”.  Brienne could not be expected to recover from her loss so quickly, but she had duties to perform. 

Sansa wondered if Jaime had understood how well he had sealed Brienne’s fate when he placed his children under her care.  After his death, she would have most likely gone home and wallowed on her tiny and serene island, but now she would not leave Myrcella and Tommen.  Queen Daenerys had snatched the opportunity to name Brienne one of her counselors and commander of the City Watch, further tying her to King’s Landing.  It was an attempt to restore Lady Oathkeeper’s reputation after she ostentatiously risked her life for the Kingslayer.  It was also a means to keep Brienne distracted and let her dowse her searing pain in the calming sea of duty and honor that she loved so much.  Sansa had difficulty pitying the knight since she found herself following the same path, which is why she was currently in the Red Keep.  

Ser Daavos stepped ahead of her to open the doors to the throne room.  Sansa walked through to see men and women from the Iron Islands, Dorne, and Pentos already assembled.  Somewhere at the foot of the dais, she saw the heads of Arianne, Asha, and Ser Addam.  Daenerys Targaryen sat on the Iron Throne, dressed in a gossamer gown that was of the style of Qarth.  Standing on her right was Ser Barristan Selmy, clad in armor, and standing on her left was Tyrion Lannister.  He appeared as uninterested as always, but as he caught Sansa’s eye, he offered a lopsided grin and a wink.  Sansa hated how much her former husband could look like his brother at such times.  Behind him was Brienne, dressed in her own armor and carrying Oathkeeper at her waist.  Surprisingly, she looked younger than Sansa had ever seen her.  Her skin was pale and taunt and her straw hair was pulled back with pins, exposing her masculine and distorted features.  She hunkered in the steel, appearing too small to fit in the uniform of a knight.  Sansa could not have imagined what she must have felt when the Queen finally allowed her to be released from her cell.  Part of her bore regret for not being there to console her friend and another part cursed herself for not fighting for Jaime as much as Brienne had.  However, those thoughts were quelled by the weight of her position as Lady of Winterfell and by the acceptance of Jaime’s fate before they had even journeyed south.

Sansa forced herself to look away from the Maid of Tarth.  The Queen’s wards, Myrcella and Tommen Lannister, were set a step below the throne and they were smiling and waving at Sansa as she made her way through the court.

The Queen smiled as well and opened her arms, gesturing to those in front of her.  “It pleases me to be in the sight of my Wardens.  You are my voices across the land.  You are the other parent to my children.  You are my family.”

Ser Addam bent to one knee and said, “You Grace, your humble servant in the East begs your pardon for his absence.  He has honored me with giving his voice to your court but only if it pleases Your Grace.”

Daenerys gave him a regal frown.  “Your presence is always welcome, Ser Addam.  I have given Jarod Daxo Xhoan a most difficult task of governing the many lands in the Free Cities.  But one day he must trust in the rule to someone else while he makes the skip across the Narrow Sea to see me again.”

Sansa watched Ser Addam bow in acquiescence and Daenerys turn her attention to Asha.  She kept her eyes on the knight, however, and wondered once again how much control of the East Tyrion Lannister had and whose head would end up over the King’s Gate next.  She frowned herself.


	6. I Raise My Flags, Don My Clothes, It's a Revolution I Suppose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize for this story being more depressing than I had realized. My intention had been to be slightly angsty and to follow the feel of canon, but with an upbeat conclusion, one that may be unexpected. I would like to remind anyone who is still reading that I promised a happy ending. So, I have moved up a chapter that would start that process to be after this one, instead of later.
> 
> I have to give a huge "thank you" to Coraleeveritas for talking me down from my writer's ledge and being amazing.

Three years earlier.  Before the Darkness.

“A girl must have a name.  A name for the one you took from her.”

Brienne turned to the old woman hunched over beside her.  She came only up to Brienne’s waist, hovering above a gnarled cane.  The hand that grasped the wood was paler than Brienne’s creamy skin and riddled with streaks of purple and red like the beginning of a sunset.  Long, jagged nails grew past wrinkled fingertips.  The woman’s arm shook, causing the cane to vibrate and rattle on the stones.  Her body was covered by strips of old cloaks and tunics so that all that could be seen of her flesh was her arm and her thin, haggard face, framed in small wisps of snow white string.  Brienne ignored everything except the crone’s eyes.  When she looked hard enough, she saw the deep brown in the gaze shift to a harsh grey.  _Sansa had said Arya had their father’s eyes_.

“Stop playing, Arya,” Brienne tried to sound as determined as she had heard Lady Catelyn speak.  She put her hands on her hips.

“I am not Arya,” the old woman snapped.  Brienne thought she could make out other features of a young child shimmer for just a moment.  It worried her.  _The others had said they did not see it_.

“Then who are you?”

“I am no one.”

Brienne sighed.  She turned to look far in the distance at the port of Braavos.  Farther into the deep waters, she could see the Titan guarding the entrance.  She felt anxiety draw her muscles tight and the sudden urge to return to the rest forced her to stride away from the woman.  The angry and strong clack of the cane followed her across a bridge and down a winding alley.  The feeble old woman was easily matching the long, determined strides of Brienne.  Arya seemed to have given up pretenses.

“I need a name, Brienne!”

Brienne whirled to find her standing straight, arms crossed with the cane folded between them.  She was tapping her foot impatiently.  “I do not know why you are here or what you hope to prove, but you _are_ Arya Stark and your _sister_ and your _home_ need you.  So, I will give you a name.  Aegon Targeryon.  Bring Queen Daenerys his head.”

“What?!” The voice was very much that of a little girl now.

“You heard me.  Your sister will bend the knee to Daenerys.  Aegon and his men are threatening the Queen’s lands and so they will threaten her allies as well, including Winterfell.”

“How am I going to get to a boy that is surrounded by an _army_?”

“If anyone can slip through The Golden Company, it would be Arya Stark.” The crone broke into a wide grin and shrugged.  “I will take care of the men, though, and you will not be alone.  Jaime Lannister is coming with you.”

Cold grey eyes bored down on Brienne as the woman stomped towards her.  She took the cane and poked the side where there was a small slit in Brienne’s armor.  “Give me _his_ name, instead.  The Kingsl-“

“ _Ser_ Jaime helped save your sister’s life,” Brienne hurriedly said.  “You will not harm him….I-I know he and his family have done terrible things, but _please_ , Arya, he has changed.” For a moment, Brienne thought she was back again pleading with Lady Stoneheart.  Would she kill this child like she had her mother, to save him? She did not think she could.

Arya stared at Brienne for a long time.  She felt as if she was reading every timid thought that had been hiding behind Brienne’s eyes.  Eventually, the old woman sighed and gave another shrug.  “Fine.  I will not hurt him unless he tries to hurt me.”

“He will not hurt you, I promise.”     

That seemed enough for the Stark girl.  She cast one more knowing glance before fading into the shadows.  Brienne made her own way back to the port, trusting that Arya would find Jaime in her own time. 

As she crossed the small islands back to Ragman’s Harbor, she tried not to look at the temples that she passed.  It appeared as if there were more shrines to different gods than there were islands of Braavos.  It reminded her of how far away from home she really was, in this strange place on the other side of the sea, and of how close she was to returning to it.  She grimaced, trying to push the thought away and ignore the stone dropping in her stomach.  Unfortunately, her mind immediately switched to a more familiar topic.  _Jaime_.  Brienne forced him out of her reverie as well.  Lately, his sad green eyes haunted her and a part of her was hoping that the image would stay with Jaime, who was soon to be far from her.  That idea did not brighten her mood, either, though.

Her feet had brought her back to the dock where her ship was anchored.  It was a longship that had once been part of the fleet that carried the Ironborn to the West.  Most of the paint and characters adorning the hull had been stripped so that it appeared to be a harmless vehicle carrying envoys and traders from the Free Cities to Westeros.  Cheap, but sturdy tan cloth unfurled from the mast as the sailors scurried to ready the ship for departure.  The warm wind pulled at the fabric, promising for a swift trip.  If it failed on the way, the longship had been chosen so that its hundred oars could slice through the sea and continue to carry them on their mission.  Speed needed to be on their side for any hope of success.  Brienne did not think that she would ever be ready to face what she had left behind, but she hoped that whatever gods on Braavos controlled the winds that they would be in her favor.

Before climbing the ladder to the deck, Brienne scanned the port.  She counted a few faces she knew to be sworn to the Dragon Queen.  They did not meet her eyes, but they had positioned themselves to see every part of the dock.  It took Brienne a moment longer to catch a glimpse of a shrouded figure, dressed in a stiff creamy silk robe with a hood that covered silver hair and shaded violet eyes.  Brienne had not yet been able to hold the gaze of Daenerys Targeryn for long, but she glanced at the young girl long enough to see the flicker of concern, determination, and curiosity cross the beautiful face.  Brienne could only nod and hope she looked confident and trustworthy.  She expected that she simply appeared ugly and frightened.

She sought out the other face that she longed to be at the dock as well.  Farther off from Her Grace stood Jaime Lannister.  She did not expect to see anything in his expression besides the sorrow that had lingered there during their weeks in Braavos.  But she still wanted to take in the memory of his every feature before they parted.  It had not gone well last night when she had tried to say goodbye.

_Brienne had born the dead gaze long enough.  She had tried to imagine the loss that Jaime felt when the news had finally reached them of Cersei’s death.  The rumors were murky at best, but it seemed that most favored an assassin from Dorne or from the Golden Company.  Brienne doubted that Jaime cared for who was responsible and, while she could only muster a tumult of unidentified feelings for the False Queen’s death, she found herself grateful for the safety of Tommen, who had been at the Rock with his mother.  Brienne’s concern was reserved only for the boy.  And for his father.  She thought about how she would feel if she found out about Jaime’s death a half of a world away.  So, she had suffered his withdrawal from her and everyone else.  She had ignored his silence while she forced him to eat and drink and bathe and live.  But she would have rather he yelled at her._

_The past few days, when she came to his room at the inn, he had watched her, rather than anywhere else, while she told him of the recent decisions she had been making with the Queen’s men.  He would even make a snide, dark comment that would have suited Tyrion rather than his brother, but Brienne held on to the moments as signs of hope.  They would both be leaving tomorrow, however, and she refused to part from him with only snarky remarks._

_She walked down the hall to his room, having left her cleaned garments on her bed, carrying his own clothes that she had washed with her own.  Jaime was leaning against the doorframe, tearing off a piece of hard bread with his teeth.  He appeared to have bathed and dressed himself since the ties on his tunic were slightly loose and his golden hair was a darker bronze from being wet.  He had even attempted to shave.  Brienne eyed this sudden change with suspicion and sure enough, as she approached, hugging his clothes tightly to her chest with nerves, he gave her a small smile.  She should have felt relieved, but the glint in his emerald eyes and the way the grin only tugged at one side of his mouth made her pause._

_“Who is going to clean my breeches when you are gone, wench?” Jaime asked._

_Brienne suddenly felt foolish for taking care of him while he mourned the loss of his sister.  His lover.  And she felt angry for putting herself in another position to be ridiculed.  She took the last few steps to him, hardly taking note that he leaned towards her and his stump moved slowly to her hip, and shoved the clothes into his chest.  “Since you seem to be doing fine, I am sure you can handle them yourself.”_

_Brienne tried to turn away, but Jaime was able to entwine his arm with hers and pulled her into his room.  He kicked the door closed and threw her carefully folded pile onto a chair.  He crossed his arms and Brienne prepared herself for a fight.  “Thank you”, he said, his voice soft and nervous.  They stood in silence for a moment, Brienne unsure of what kind of response she was supposed to give and Jaime battling to continue.  “Listen, we found Arya and Sansa is in Winterfell.  We have fulfilled our oaths to Lady Catelyn.  Let’s go, Brienne.”_

_“Go?”, the anger that had begun to subside built up to an inferno inside Brienne’s chest.  She felt the fire burst behind her eyelids and force out her words in sharp lashes.  “I have nowhere to go to, Ser! My home has been taken! And Arya and Sansa are no safer than they were when we found them.  Winterfell-“_

_“You must take me for a fool,” Jaime hissed.  He turned his heady gaze from her and shook his head.  “As soon as we found out about Stannis and the north, I knew you were going to Winterfell, but do not lie to me about your motives.  You want to avenge your precious Renly.”_

_Brienne stepped back as if he had slapped her.  She could never have imagined Jaime accusing her of doing something so dangerous and romantic.  Truthfully, she could not even recall the last time her thoughts had turned to Renly.  She tried to bring up his image in her mind, but she suddenly saw a golden headed beauty with cold, jade eyes.  “I have always done my duty, Ser, and it is pulling me in too many directions for some silly quest at retribution.  Is that why you want me to abandon everything? So that you may run to the Rock and sleep beside your lost sister?”_

_“Yes, your duty.” Jaime followed her when she had stepped back and took another stride in an attempt to appear at a height to her.  He waved aside her words.  “You have placed another vow on your heavy plate, bending the knee to Daenerys Targeryan.  Tell me, Brienne, how much longer before you buckle from the weight?”_

_“I swore to her to save you! To-to save us both! She would have taken our heads if I had not promised to give her Tarth and Aegon Targeryon.”_

_"How long do you think that will buy us? You saw those dragons.  She could take Westeros and your little island herself! Instead, she is going to sit here in the Free Cities and bide her time while you manage to get yourself killed.”_

_Brienne shoved him away, then, finding his gaze and his heat too intoxicating to let her think.  She moved to the door before he could recover and grab her and wrenched it open.  This had not gone how she had hoped._

_She turned and glared back at Jaime.  “We will meet in Gullstown in four month’s time and then I am going north.  You had better be there, Jaime.”_

_Jaime ran his hand through his slowly lightening hair.  “Seven hells, Brienne, I’ll be there.  I promise you I will not intentionally follow Cersei into the grave, but if you get yourself killed, I cannot vow that I will not be right behind you.” He tried another smile and this one turned up both sides of his mouth.  “You die, I die.  Remember?”_

_It was this image of Jaime that Brienne painted in her mind.  She timidly offered him a small smile and snorted, “How could I forget?”_

 

Brienne did not have to try hard to catch Jaime’s eye.  It appeared he had been following her movements since she had made her way to the ship.  He grinned, an expression on his face that Brienne had come to realize was reserved for only when he was watching her.  With a wink, he disappeared into the crowd just as easily as Arya had blended into the shadows.

The longship sat low in the water so that it could slice through the sea swiftly.  Brienne easily pulled her tall form up the ladder to the deck.  Pod was there to take her hand and help her right herself on the rolling surface.  She had spent most of her childhood on boats that were much smaller and more poorly crafted than the Ironborn’s longship so, Brienne merely took Pod’s extended hand out of politeness.  Once her strong legs were rooted on the wood planks, she felt her muscles shift with every subtle movement of the waves against the hull.  She wondered if the others were as comfortable at sea.

With that thought, Brienne nodded to the captain and made her way below, Pod trailing silently behind her.  She opened the door to the captain’s chambers to find Ser Barristan Selmy looming over a sullen looking Tyrion Lannister.  The Imp sat at the desk, perusing maps that were strewn across the mahogany surface.  Ser Barristan watched him with a stern look, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword so hard that in the silence Brienne could hear the hiss of leather slipping across metal as his gloved fist tightened.  Jaime had always joked that Brienne was the most serious woman he had ever met.  She had the distinct feeling that he would have said that Ser Barristan was her mirror.  She attributed some of the somber mood to being parted from his Queen for a task that he deemed to be reckless. 

Tyrion looked up from his maps when Brienne and Pod entered.  “Ah, my hero! I cannot tell you how pleased I am to be heading back to Westeros.  I have found the Free Cities to be less than accommodating to a man of my stature.  I must protest, though, that the chains are quite a disappointment.” For emphasis, Tyrion raised his wrists to reveal the small manacles that bound his tiny hands together and to a bolt in the floor next to the desk.  Brienne had wondered briefly about the bolt, but it had caused a shudder to run down her spine just as the dark thoughts had skittered across her mind.  “I had thought I had served my time in bondage already.”

“The chains were not my idea.” Brienne could not control the quick glance she cast to Ser Barristan.  “I saw no reason to bind you, though I did suggest a gag.”

Tyrion burst out laughing at that.  He slapped his hand on the desk, causing the metal links to clatter.  “You have been spending too much time with my dear brother, I fear!” He regarded her with something of pity and appraisal, neither of which Brienne was keen to earn from the Imp.  “I would have said this was his plan as well, but we all know that he has been in no state for strategy.  The news of our beloved Cersei almost killed him.  I find that an interesting thought, Lady Brienne.  A year ago, I would have bet all the gold in Casterly Rock that it _would_ have killed him.” The new look that Tyrion used to rake across her was far more calculating, leaving Brienne suddenly grateful for the manacles.

“The plan was devised by Her Grace’s counselors.”

“And would not have been possible if you had not offered your little island to be the first house in Westeros to bend the knee to the Dragon Queen.”

 _Tarth_.  When she had been set before the Dragon Queen as a captive, who had been searching for a young Westerosi girl, the only gift she had to offer was her island.  It had not seemed like much of a prize, but, as she had been informed, that small piece of land could be the hop that Her Grace’s army needed to sneak into the West.  The only problem was that it was currently being occupied by other Targareyan forces.  In order to show Tarth’s new fealty to Daenerys, and to ensure the momentary salvation of Jaime’s life, Brienne had sworn that she would take her home back and open the ports to the Dragon Queen. 

“Would you have offered anything less?”

Tyrion chortled, clearly enjoying their banter as much as Jaime did.  He shook one of his fingers at her.  “Probably not.  As it was, I was a little preoccupied with an assassin on my heels.”

“Arya Stark.”

“Ah, so it was her, was it? And now I am in your debt for saving my life, My Lady.  Just in time to follow you to all of our certain deaths.” 

“Where is your sense of adventure, Lord Tyrion?”

“My apologies if I never read the stories of two knights, one a girl and one an old man, a dwarf, and a squire overpowering the forces of a dragon.”

Brienne did not hide the smile that flitted across her plump lips as she stared down at Jaime’s brother.  She folded her arms and said, “It would be hopeless.  I suppose you should thank the gods that we are not taking Tarth back alone.” As if her words were a cue, the four heard the stomping sound of at least a dozen men stepping on the deck above them.  Tyrion glared at her quizzically before he strained his head to peer out one of the portholes.  Brienne knew that he was looking at three other longships preparing to follow them along the Narrow Sea.  She would gladly give Tarth to Queen Daenerys, but she had no intention of loosing it once more.

“I seem to have underestimated you, Brienne”, Tyrion said, straightening in the chair.  “Since you have an answer to everything, tell me, do you know where whores go?”


	7. A White Blank Page and a Swelling Rage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are well on our way to happier times. Jaime is not dead and he is...restless.  
> Thank you to everyone that is sticking with me! It means a lot!!!  
> And a special thank you again to Coraleeveritas for wonderful advice and support!

The Present

Jaime Lannister sat at an oak desk, attempting to write a letter with his left hand.  His back was to the open windows that displayed a view of a coast far from the angry, rolling seas of Casterly Rock.  The manse that had come to be his new home was perched at the edge of this strange city and granted views of a long stretch of glimmering pebbles freckling the straw colored beach, which tumbled into a calm ocean, sheltered from the Narrow Sea by the bay.  The sound of the waves would lull him into a sleep wrought with dreams he had tried to let go of.  In the mornings, when the sun would paint the east once more, Jaime could not look out at the deep blue sea.  He had come to hate the color.  He preferred to look into his sparse solar and his empty, small bed.  It was a much needed reminder of what his current life entailed, void of any of his house colors or a single sentimental artifact that would mark this as the dead Kingslayer’s quarters, rather than what he had left behind. 

A young squire entered the room to bring him wine and a plate of duck in cold cucumbers and dill.  Ser Addam Marbrand came in with the boy, holding his own wine cup.  Jaime stood, grinning, and gestured to the chair across from him.  “Ser Addam, how kind of you to visit an old friend on your way back to the Capitol.

Addam flopped into the offered chair and swung a leg around one of the arms.  He took a drink of wine and said “Gods, I will be glad to be back.  I was not made for the sea and I have grown too old for the games played by the Westerosi lords and ladies.”

“How fares our child queen?”

“She can take care of herself, as you know, Ser.  And she makes pretty frowns at the continual absence of Lord Jarod.  One day, those mock scowls will turn into real ones if he continues to defy her orders.” Ser Addam pulled out a sealed parchment and waved it at Jaime.  “Here is yet another one for him to ignore.”

Jaime arched an eyebrow, but ignored the letter.  He simply shrugged and reached for the wine.  “ _Defy_ is such a harsh word.  He is just adding some spice to her orders.  Tyrion must be proud, at least.”

“I am sure he is, and eager to be the one determining what spice to add, but mysterious men who hide behind helms during court can easily be replaced by queens or imps”, Addam replied.  “But speaking of hiding, how goes your exile?”

“I am still breathing, so I would say it is an improvement from my other options”, Jaime rolled his eyes.  Daenerys and his brother had made him pace his cell in King’s Landing for weeks, wondering why his beheading would take so long to perform.  In the meantime, his concern had grown more for the woman in the other cell, than for himself.  At least there was a chance that her life could be spared. Every chance he had been given to speak to the rotating gaolers that guarded his door had been in asking that Brienne be freed.  He had assumed that at some point his insistence had begun to grate on the sentries because Tyrion had appeared soon afterwards.  The two had not spoken much alone so, Jaime had been torn between begging his forgiveness for the past and pleading for his help for the future.  Tyrion seemed to have made the decision for him by stating that the Dragon Queen could not find it in good conscious to execute a proven ally.  However, that did not mean that the rest of Westeros would be so forgiving.  Thus, a plan had been devised to fake his execution, smuggle him out of King’s Landing, and send him to Pentos.  It would have been more of a shock had it not been the same plot he had made for Tyrion years ago.

_“Who will be the poor soul whose head will take my place atop one of the gates?” Jaime demanded.  When had he been so concerned about saving someone else’s neck over his own? It was most likely because he thought he may actually deserve to be on that pike more._

_Tyrion appeared terribly amused by his brother’s newfound sense of honor.  “Oh, do not loose sleep over the poor handsome rapist who will be executed for his crimes, not yours.  Just be relieved he has long blonde hair and will be too far from anyone’s prying eyes to tell the difference.  I was told that our dear sister had to scrutinize every dwarf’s head that was brought to her after she ordered my death.  I must admit, I am still touched she could discern my features over another’s…shortcomings.”_

_The scowl on Tyrion’s face reminded Jaime of how much their other sibling had played a hand in the distance between them.  At least there had been some time to attempt to close the gap.  “So, what now? What will Brienne and I do in Pentos?”_

_“Jaime”, Tyrion looked at him with mismatched, pitying eyes.  “You will be sent to Pentos to serve the Queen and report to her about the game that is being played in the Free Cities.  Trust me, you will not be twiddling your...thumb.  But Lady Oathkeeper is a figurehead, without the tainted past of Goldenhand.  Daenerys needs her, Jaime, and I do not know how to explain to her what it is going to mean to separate you two.”_

_Jaime could not blame him.  He could not even voice the warring emotions about his stubborn, honorable wench.  He did not think she would want to steal away with him to some exotic city on the other side of the world, anyway.  There was a part of him, which was growing deep in his chest, that wished she would.  “Then what does the Dragon Queen want from me?”_

_“Your loyalty and your duty, in exchange for the health and vitality of those you love.”_

It had seemed a price worth paying, until the kiss. 

“Oh come now, Jaime”, Addam was saying.  “Few in the Free Cities would recognize you.  For the most part, you can go where you please in these beautiful lands and take any of these beautiful women.  You chose to hole yourself up in this tower.”

“You know that Daenerys has forbidden most of my travel.  If you have forgotten, please let the Yunkai’i guards remind you.”

Addam shrugged.  “Still, I would rather be alive in Pentos than dead in Westeros.  And you can still take a woman.”

“I have taken women”, he lied.  “I am old, Addam.  I cannot keep up with the young ones anymore.”

“We are the same age, Goldenhand”, Addam laughed. “And I do just fine.  I would not mind having the young Warden of the North in my bed.”

Jaime could not help but snort.  “She only plays innocent.  She will rip you to shreds if you tried to touch her.  Take Arianne if you mean to go completely above your station.  She may let you live long enough to enjoy it.”

“If I wanted roughness, I would propose to Brienne”, Addam chuckled into his drink.  “She threw Hyle Hunt down a set of stairs because he reached for her hand.” 

Jaime felt his chest tighten at her name.  _Just change the subject, fool.  Do not do this to yourself_.  He did not listen, of course.  “I had thought that Lady Brienne would have given in by now.”

Addam gave him a strange look over his cup.  “If I know our Maid, she will not marry unless the Dragon Queen forces her to.  And I do not think that it will be to a hedge knight like Hunt.”

“Good.  Then make sure he can no longer grip with the hand that accosted her”, Jaime snapped.  There was an awkward silence as he tried to slow his heart and loosen his own hold on the edge of the desk.

“Brienne had me train Myrcella and Tommen in some swordplay while I was there”, Addam said afterwards.  “They have grown very fond of her.  I would not say that she is the motherly type, but they are becoming quite the hard-willed, precocious wards.”

“Then she is teaching them better than Cersei or I ever would have”, Jaime rubbed his temple.  “I only hope she has forgiven them for being Lannisters.”

Addam set down his wine and stood.  “I think, Ser, that she loves them most _because_ they are Lannisters.  They will always be _yours_.”

“Does she seem…happy to you, Addam? Does she smile at all?” Jaime tried to mask the need in his voice. 

“I cannot say Brienne ever freely smiled, Jaime.  But she is alive.  Isn’t that enough?”

_It used to be_.  After Addam left, Jaime turned back to his letter.  He held it above a candle and watched as it burned.  He had enough work to keep him busy well into the night, and longer since it seemed that few slept in Pentos, but his thoughts would not leave the image of a heavily breathing, well kissed Brienne of Tarth.  He sighed, scrubbing his hands through his hair in an attempt to clear his head.  The faint tingle through his scalp only reminded him of the feeling of Brienne’s long fingers gently pulling at him.  He shivered as the memory continued to circulate through his mind, making him feel drunk.  Her lips had been so soft and she had tasted like the heavy air after a hot, summer rainstorm. 

Jaime had not really known what he had planned when he had taken Brienne into his arms in that cell.  She had looked at him with such despair when he told her that he would go to his death without her.  For a moment, he thought that perhaps the affection and desire that had grown in him for this girl may not have been the only feelings evolving between them.  So, he had acted like he always did, with parts other than his head, and he had pulled her into him, to feel her warmth spread through him one more time.   But her warmth had not been enough.  Before he could even move to kiss her, Brienne’s eyes were screwed shut and her sweet, panting mouth was parted slightly, waiting for him.  It was then that Jaime thought about scrambling down the entire tower and begging the Dragon Queen to take his head if he could have the night with the wench.  Instead, he had tilted his chin to capture her lips and deepened it much further than a farewell kiss should have gone.  Her eager responses had turned his mind to simply taking her then and there.

The realization of what they had actually done hit him when he pulled back to find her almost in tears, trying to tell him how she felt.  _Stupid, bloody fool.  If you wanted to ensure that you would both be miserable for your long lives, then that was the way to do it_.   He had felt the urge to claim her, force her to think of his kiss and his need every time she was lonely or thought about doing something foolish like marry Hyle Hunt.  But Brienne deserved to find happiness elsewhere and not be haunted by his touch.  He was, after all, a dead man, one who had no idea what he truly wanted from the maid until it was too late.  Yet, she had left her mark on him, as well.  If he had caused as much of an emptiness as their separation had left in him, then he could not bear to think of the damage he had done to Brienne with his kiss. 

They were all alive, but Brienne would never know that he was.  And as the days continued and the memories of her, especially the ghost of her lips, and the guilt of leaving his children burned in him, he found out what it felt to be _alone_.  He did not want Ser Addam’s presence.  He did not want the incessant letters from his brother.  He did not want the eyes of the women of Pentos on him.  He wanted Brienne.   


	8. And Now I Need to Know, Is This Real Love Or Is It Just Madness Keeping Us Afloat?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone who has stayed with this story and commented, especially on the "surprise" from the last chapter, has warmed my heart. Thank you so much!
> 
> This will be the last chapter set in the past. There are many things that need to be set in motion in the present to take up the rest of the story. So, this was intended to show how Jaime and Brienne came to be in the Free Cities, but it ended up being my attempt to create the first tension between the two using the well known plotline of "one of them cares for the other's wounds and things get heated". I consider this an intermission and a break from angst.
> 
> The fact that I posted this and all of the best parts are thanks to Coraleeveritas, who has been my beacon of light in the darkness of self doubt. LOVE!

Three and a half years earlier.  Before the Darkness.

Brienne kneeled on the ground, clinging to her torn and bloody tunic as if it could turn back the past five minutes.  She had pulled it off her body to try to get at the searing wound that split her flesh open from her upper shoulder, across her back, to her lower waist.  Now the fabric was scrunched into a tight ball, covering her meager breasts.  One sleeve, however, was in the grip of a strong, callused hand, attempting to pull it away from Brienne.  She felt a blush creep throughout her entire body and her heart began rocketing blood through her veins, sending sharp stabs of pain to her back.

“Seven hells, wench, you are still _bleeding_ ,” Jaime Lannister hissed at her.  There was a note of concern in his voice, but Brienne could not be sure since his grin only reflected his amusement at her modesty.  “You cannot reach that cut yourself.”  He knew he was right since he had come into the small clearing in the woods to find her attempting to reach behind herself to apply a poultice to the wound.  Brienne had thanked the gods that her back had been to him and he had made enough noise to warn her of his presence.  She had hastily snatched up her discarded shirt and turned to him.  The memory of the look on his face caused Brienne to tug at the shirt again, sending her pulse skittering weakly.  He had looked so worried for her, his jade eyes dancing across the torn skin on her back.  But then his gaze had raked across her hips and stomach and those emeralds darkened to moss.  His tongue had darted out to run across his lips and he had swallowed.  In an instant, Jaime’s expression melted and Brienne wondered if she had just wished the moment.  But then, he was crouching infront of her, trying to make her release her tunic so that he could help take care of her.

“It would be improper, Ser,” Brienne replied. 

“Ah. I see.  Perhaps you would prefer if I fetched Hunt?” Jaime’s voice was a growl and Brienne shivered at the sound as it excited her flesh.  She thought about Ser Hyle touching her and her tremor turned to one of revulsion.  She shook her head.  Jaime’s dark mood lightened a little at her gesture and he continued, “Your squire, then.  I am sure the young lad would not fumble the job too much…” Pod would not shy away from the sight of blood, but Brienne thought he may faint at the exposure of so much skin.  She motioned her refusal once more.  “ The Lady Sansa-“

“Jaime, I do not need help.  Please do not scare that poor girl with the sight of more bloodshed,” Brienne sighed.  She had received her injury while rescuing Sansa from the Vale.  She remembered Ser Yohn Royce appearing from an alcove as Brienne had followed the others to Pod and the horses.  She had seen movement out of the corner of her eye and slipped away before Royce’s sword was able to run her through.  He had lifted his blade to cut again, but suddenly an arrow blossomed in his shoulder.  Maya Stone had been carrying a quiver and bow, Brienne remembered, just as she took the second’s hesitation to slide Oathkeeper right through Royce’s heart.  Sansa had screamed.  Hunt had to drag Brienne with him as they fled, her legs feeling like the blood that was coursing down her back.     

“That only leaves me, Brienne,” Jaime’s tone gently brought her back to the quiet woods that they were both kneeling in.  Further off, the others had made camp, assessing their own wounds.  “Come now.  It is not as if I have not seen you completely bare before!”

Jaime had seen Brienne naked in body and in soul, but at the time that she had stood boldly before the Kingslayer, daring him to understand that she was indeed a woman, she had not cared what he thought.  Brienne did not know when her heart had shifted, but she found herself becoming angry that Jaime did not see that she deserved the respect of a woman, too.  She was a lady, after all.  A maid.  _But I have always wanted him to treat me as an equal, a fellow knight.  That is all he is doing now_. _When had that stopped being enough?_   To keep herself from answering, Brienne thrust the jar of salve at Jaime, forcing him to release his hold on the tunic’s sleeve to take it.  She quickly turned her back to him.

Snow had not fallen in the valley outside the border of the Vale where they were hiding, but the air brought a chill.  Far from the warmth of a campfire, Brienne could feel her bare skin rise in the crisp wind.  She counted the seconds, waiting to feel Jaime’s hands on her cut.  Her heartbeats had begun to return to normal, but the anticipation of his touch caused her blood to hammer in her ears once more.  It dulled her senses to everything but the movements behind her.  The sound of him blowing air and of skin being rubbed together caused her to tilt her head so she could watch him from the corner of her eye.  He was heating the waxy substance between his hand and the end of his stump and provided more warmth with his steaming breath.  When he seemed satisfied, Jaime raised his left hand to the top of the slice, which was just below Brienne’s right shoulder blade.  He placed delicate fingers over the frayed skin, running them along the edges of the wound.  Even the tender touch brought tears to Brienne’s eyes.  She had to bite back a groan of pain and keep still. 

As she began to accept and absorb the ache, her mind focused on the growing warmth that was suffusing her entire body.  It laced out from where Jaime’s fingers made contact with her flesh and seeped into her tired muscles, making her lean back slightly towards Jaime.  The heat continued, igniting a fire in her belly that trailed down her legs and cut the air from her lungs.

“Is the pain too great?” Brienne jumped at the proximity of Jaime’s voice.  His lips were close enough to her ear that he spoke barely above a whisper, but it sounded like it boomed in the small clearing.  She shook her head, too afraid to speak and hear her voice come out like a frightened and excited little girl.  It felt like her heart was trying to crawl out her throat.  She could hardly breath from the force of it slamming against her chest.  He must have felt the frantic pulses against her skin.  _What would I say to him if he asked me why I was reacting so?_

Jaime’s hand left her back.  Her knees finally gave out and she slumped to the ground, crossing her legs infront of her.  When he returned, he sat as well, a leg on either side of her hips, but not close enough to touch.  His left hand, covered with more salve, resumed its torturous journey across the middle of her back.  When he reached where the wound crossed a vertebrae, her spine convulsed and she trembled.  Then, she felt his stump tentatively begin its own path down the other edge of the cut.  Jaime paused after only a moment and said, “Is this-is this alright, My Lady?”

“Yes,” Brienne said.  She was pleased that her tone sounded nonchalant.  However, when neither his hand nor his stump continued moving, she clutched her tunic tighter to her chest and let escape a “ _Please_.”

The combination of the circular motions of Jaime’s scorching skin and the pressure on her sore muscles lulled Brienne into a haze where the only world and the only sensations that mattered were from Jaime’s contact.  The pain was a minor nuisance that existed on the periphery, though a part of her was aware that it was actually excruciating.  She tried to recall a time when she had been touched like this.  The healing aid of a maester was often calculated and cold, never gentle.  There were faint memories that haunted the back of her mind of a woman’s slender fingers grazing her temple and back when she was a child.  The pressure of her father’s hand on her head and shoulder was much more prominent.  While these touches had been soothing, Jaime felt as if his caresses were pulling out her pain and suffusing her with a contentment that she had never thought to experience.  She was slightly horrified that he was the first to touch her in such a way and she knew, deep in her pounding heart, that she could never compare or want for another to do the same.        

Jaime was slowly making his way to her left side as he followed the wound across her body.  He was close enough that Brienne could steal another glance at him.  His eyes were cast down, watching his left hand trace the merest curve of her waist.  His stump was still on her back, massaging the tense muscles well below the wound.  Brienne watched Jaime’s throat bob up and down.  She saw the quiver in his fingertips whenever they were not on her skin.  She was consumed by the heat that came off of his body and the arousing tickle of his ragged breath on her shoulder.  It all made her feel heady and weak.   

Then, too soon, the last of the salve had been applied to the end of her wound.  Brienne expected to loose the rush of Jaime’s touch immediately, but instead, his stump continued the lazy circles and his hand moved to lightly grasp her bare hip.  His thumb traced more lines of fire and pleasure while now his left leg was pressed possessively against her crossed ones and his right foot was sidled up against her other hip.  Brienne realized she was completely enclosed inside Jaime’s warm body, allowing his light touches to send pimples across her flesh and a heat to pool between her legs.  She barely noticed that her heart had all but stopped the litany of drumming that had begun as Jaime made his way across her back.  Her entire body was still, as if fearful that he would be reminded who he was stroking so tenderly.  While he sent her insides alight, he was staring intently at her, though, waiting for her to look at him.

When she gained the courage to face him, Brienne felt as if she had been smacked back into reality.  In the dappled sunlight of the forest, Brienne could see golden strands simmering below the dirt that stained Jaime’s locks.  Rough stubble had sprouted from smooth, tanned skin and it ran across his hard cheeks and down to his thick, muscled neck.  Brienne was fascinated by where his beard split into plump, pink lips, cracked and mottled with dried blood.  His mouth was slightly parted, a smile tugging at one corner while his slick tongue toyed with the other.  In order to still the sudden beating of her heart, she moved her gaze up to Jaime’s eyes.  That was a mistake.  The sea green irises staring back at her had become easy to read over the months, but she had never seen this expression on his face before.  Brienne watched as his eyes roamed over her, the smile pulling more of his mouth upwards, exposing straight, ivory teeth.  But she was frowning now.  The sight of Jamie Lannister, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, so beautiful even underneath the blood and dirt, made her think about what would happen next.

“Thank you, Jaime-“

“Anytime, wench,” Jaime cast her one more look before moving away from her and standing up.  He was still smiling at her, but there was a flash of fear as well.  “Just stop thinking that you are in this all by yourself.”

“I do not think that,” Brienne sighed.  She turned away again so that she could slip on her bloody tunic before standing as well.  “I have people that I am responsible for now.  Do not worry, Ser Jaime.  I will get Lady Sansa back to Winterfell.”

Jaime barked out a laugh and she looked at him.  “Did you forget there were two Stark daughters? The Hound said Arya could be in the Free Cities.  Send Sansa with Hunt and the others to Winterfell.  We will take Pod and go across the Narrow Sea.”

“ _We_?”

“Yes, _we_.  You could use an extra hand and lucky for you, I only have one,” Jaime waved his stump in her direction.

“But, you are the Lord Commander-“

“I do not want you to think of me like that, Brienne,” Jaime snapped.  His smile had disappeared at her words and he would not look at her anymore.  “Seven hells, I would rather you call me Kingslayer than the leader of that wretched group of _knights_.”

“Jaime…” Brienne did not know what else to say, but his name on her lips brought back the dark smile.  She did not return it, though.  Her heart was soaring at the thought that they would not have to part so soon.  She would die before she admitted it to Jaime, but she had actually come to miss his presence on the road with her.  It would be nice to share another adventure with him.  But she had taken comfort that he was safe behind the high walls of Kings Landing.  And any hope of Jaime coming along had only ever been a fantasy.  He had sworn an oath.  He had given up Casterly Rock and a family for that oath.  She would never let him break it, especially since he had trusted her to fulfill his other oath so that he would not have to break any.

“What is a few more months away, anyway?” Jaime shrugged.  They were silent for a moment before he added, “Besides, I think the Queen Reagent would have me beheaded if I returned now.” Brienne frowned again but she did not want to ask.  “And I am finding I much rather prefer your company, wench.”    


	9. Where The Things That Could Have Been Are Repressed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only other dreaded Sansa chapter! She gets the ball rolling though. What is Dany up to? Hmmm...
> 
> Thank you to everyone who is continuing to read and thank you to those that have taken the time to comment! Another huge thank you to Coraleeveritas for building up my chapters and giving me the push to actually post them! LOVE!!

The Present

Sansa sought out Brienne after the meeting of the Wardens in the throne room and found her in the children’s solar.  The shieldmaiden was sliding her feet along the rushes, her body crouched and her hands up in a defensive posture.  She had discarded her breastplate and the armor for her arms so that she could move freely.  Myrcella was standing opposite of her, mirroring her stance, except she had a delicate silver dagger held tightly in her slender fist.  Sansa recognized the weapon as the one that Brienne had gifted the young woman when she had announced to the children her intention to help raise them.  Myrcella had accepted the present only after Brienne had promised to teach her how to use it.  Though the two had spent little time in each other’s company before Jaime and Brienne’s imprisonment, the knight had clearly sensed something familiar in Myrcella and the Lannister had seemingly shared the sentiment.  She demanded to be trained by Brienne whenever the advisor was not on duty.  Sansa thought that Myrcella had grown to resemble the Sand Snakes she so loved to talk about, rather than being any incarnation of her mother.

The other gift, a cyvasse board, that Brienne had brought to the wards was sitting on the table next to the fireplace.  Tommen was perched on a stool, studying the pieces with an intensity that reminded Sansa of his uncle.  He had seemed to accept that he would never be a great knight or a skilled leader and had thrown himself into his studies in order to prove his worth.  Though he should have been seeking the acceptance of the Dragon Queen, Tommen often asked Brienne if his education would be valuable on Tarth.  He was only a mediocre cyvasse player, despite all of Tyrion’s time, but his love of nature had captivated Brienne.  She would describe to him the lands of Tarth and he had already begun to devise an agricultural plan and aquaculture system for the island.  Not for the first time, Sansa mused that Tommen and Bran would have been friends if they knew each other now.

“Have you found the move that sealed your loss, yet, little brother?” Myrcella called as she slipped a dainty wrist from Brienne’s grasp. 

“Myrcella, victories are not held by flaunting defeat.  You must teach Tommen where his tactics went astray so that he will _learn_ ,” Brienne told her gently.

“But Uncle Tyrion says you are supposed to guard your skills carefully,” Myrcella replied.  She frowned and toyed with her golden plait, which covered the right side of her face, hiding her scars from view.  If one did not know of their existence, Myrcella would seem to be a beautiful and innocent young lady.

“If you hold onto the same tricks, one day the enemy will discover them and then what will you do, if you know nothing else? A good warrior and a good leader is always changing maneuvers so that they will never be predictable,” Brienne said. Unlike Myrcella, Brienne’s disfigurement was prominent, with her hair pulled back and her pale skin screaming against the fresh red of the puckered flesh that seemed would never blend back into the color of her cheek.

Tommen piped up when Brienne mentioned warriors.  He had been wallowing in his defeat, but a smile came to him and he said, “Brienne, you promised we could resume our sword lessons.”

“Yes, Brienne,” Myrcella chimed in.  “I want to fight just as well as you.  Perhaps you could even have some armor made for us, like yours.”           

Brienne blushed at the compliment, which seemed to be Myrcella’s goal, and her mouth worked like a fish as she tried to formulate the proper reply.  “Perhaps while Ser Barristan is in King’s Landing, he will honor us with some lessons.  In the meantime, I will write to my old swordmaster in Tarth-“

“But we want _you_ to show us,” Myrcella interjected.  “You are Lady Oathkeeper! They wrote songs about you! You and-and Father!”

Sansa saw Brienne’s face contort as she fought to keep her expression blank.  But for a moment, a deep sadness and longing overcame her at the mention of Jaime.  She forced a smile and started to say something, but Sansa saved her from the attempt.  “And one day, they will sing songs of you too, My Lord and Lady.”

 The Lannisters turned to see her in the entrance and ran from their games to embrace her.  Brienne stood to her full height, giving her a grateful grin. 

“I think we have taken enough of Lady Brienne’s time.  You should both get ready for dinner.  Brienne has arranged for all of us to dine with Lady Asha and Lady Arienne.” Sansa held out her hand to Brienne.  The other woman placed quick kisses on the cheeks of Tommen and Myrcella before entwining her arm with Sansa’s.  They left the two to argue about which Warden they were more excited to see and what tales would be told from the far lands of the South and West.  “I have never seen you act as you do around Jaime’s children.” She knew her words would sting but she wanted to see Brienne’s reaction.  She felt the arm around her’s stiffen and Brienne tried to pull away, but Sansa placed her other hand on her and would not let go.

“They are nothing like their parents.  It has become my responsibility to help guide them to become someone none of us could have been.  They should be children of summer.”

“Yes.  They do not act like Cersei or Jaime.  But Tommen has that lopsided grin like Jaime, especially when he has identified some new plant in the garden, and when Myrcella wins at cyvasse, the light in her eyes makes me think that Cersei has come back to life.”

“I do not wish to speak of the children.”

“Of course not, Brienne.  You stand like ice and melt only slightly when they are around.  But what do you do at night, when you are alone? I cannot imagine your loss.”

Brienne stopped in the hallway and forced Sansa to turn to her. “I survived just fine after Renly’s death-“

“Renly did not touch you like Jaime did,” Sansa was getting angry with the cold knight visage that Brienne was trying to throw at her.  “Renly did not love you.”

“Neither did Jaime,” the shieldmaiden spat.  “He is _dead_ , Sansa.  Whatever I am going through, I will deal with.”

 “I am your friend, Brienne.  I need to know what you are going through.” Sansa placed her hand back on Brienne’s arm.  She looked into bright blue eyes.  _Dry eyes_. 

Brienne regarded her before saying, “I cannot bear being in the children’s presence.  I see Jaime in them every time and all I can do is try to make them _different_ than the rest of us.  I will have failed him again if they become Lannisters or…if they become like me.  They should laugh freely but be strong and witty enough to play the game of thrones.  Myrcella…Myrcella should find a suitable husband that would make her happy and Tommen deserves a title and lands to hold.  But I-I do not know how to teach them how to do these things.”

“They want your love, Brienne.  Do you not think that they see a piece of Jaime in you?”

“I cried for so long.  I cannot cry anymore.” Brienne looked at Sansa, pleading for some sort of respite.

“Come back with me to Winterfell, then,” Sansa suggested.  She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth.  How many times had she walked the stone halls of the northern keep only to come across Brienne hunkered in an alcove with Jaime? The first time she had stumbled upon them, she had thought they were kissing.  Their faces were so close together that their noses were practically touching.  But Brienne had been hissing in wrath and Jaime was snapping his jaws like a lion.  Lady Oathkeeper and Goldenhand were a united front during the Darkness, but in private, the two sparred with words as often as they did with swords on the battlefield.  When times felt desperate, though, they warred with their fears together.  Sansa would usually have to swivel out of view, catching a glance with them as far apart as their hiding place would allow, with only the touch of a hand or leg connecting them.  If Brienne returned to Winterfell, she would be haunted by Jaime more than she was in King’s Landing.

Brienne guffawed and continued their walk, leading Sansa down the tower.  The stoic knight was set firmly back in place once more.  “I am actually needed here, My Lady.  I just need to stab something, I think.  Peace does not suit my talents.”

Sansa could not help but laugh.  She would not admit it to her friend, but she had come to feel the same about her own. 

Their conversation was halted when Ser Barristan Selmy appeared from one of the stairways and hailed to them.  “Lady Sansa! Lady Brienne!” he called, armor clanking to reach them.  “My apologies for interrupting your visit, but the Queen asks for your presence, Lady Sansa.”

Sansa cast a questioning glance at Brienne, but she just shrugged.  “Ser Barristan and I will leave you to your counsel, My Lady.” She offered a bow and turned back to the Hand.

“Come, Brienne, we have matters to discuss about restocking the armory,” Ser Barristan also gave Sansa a bow and a look.  He was trying to determine if Sansa had been able to reach through to Brienne somehow, to pull her out of the ruin she was building for herself.  “My Lady.”

The two left Sansa to make her own way to the Queen’s chambers. 

 

Sansa was shown into a bright, open room that the Dragon Queen had taken as her solar.  She was standing on the terrace, which Sansa knew overlooked the shores of King’s Landing where the dragons were wont to roost.  Sansa did not approach too close.  Despite being saved by Daenerys’s children, she did not think of them as she had thought of the direwolves.  The dragons were wild beasts that could not be tamed, even by their mother.  In hunger or anger, they could lay waste to Westeros and no one could stop them.  A Targaryean girl was all that stood between fiery death and everyone that Sansa ever loved.  For that, she feared for the Queen and for the future of her lands. 

Queen Daenerys turned at the announcement of Sansa’s arrival and strode towards her, aware of the uncertainty Sansa felt about the terrace.  “You should not be so fearful of my children, Warden.  They are, after all, the salvation of the West.” _And could still be its demise as well_. Sansa shivered involuntarily as Her Grace smiled and gestured to a plush couch that was next to a burning fire.  “Please, Lady Sansa, I would like to hear womanly counsel about the happiness of my household.”

Sansa seated herself.  She smoothed her heavy skirts, lined with fur to keep out the withering death rattle of Winter that still hung in the air, eyeing the goose pimples that dotted the Queen’s bare arms, exposed by the thin gown.  When Brienne and Jaime had joined her in Winterfell, the maiden had told Sansa stories of a fierce child with a heart for the less fortunate, worthy of the North bending the knee.  Sansa had found a prideful queen instead, hardened by surviving her past failures and willing to take risks in the assumption that she would rise through them.  Though there was peace in the West and the lands beyond, Sansa was not sure that the price for it had fully been paid.  It caused her to withdraw whenever she was alone with Daenerys Targaryean.  “Your Grace has made great strides in gaining the trust of King’s Landing.  I do not understand how the daughter of a Usurper could offer such a wise queen any counsel.”

Daenerys scowled at her.  “You placate very prettily, Sansa, but I know you better than that.  You may speak freely as this is not court and I have no plans on taking your head.”

Before Sansa could catch herself, she said, “You took Ser Jaime’s.  He may have been the hand that wielded the sword which took your father, but my own father was the one that let him get that close.”

“If it lets you sleep any better, then consider the lives of the remaining Stark children to be repayment for Lord Eddard keeping the assassins from killing me when he was Hand,” Daenerys waved an airy wrist, tossing back her white hair.  “Honestly, Sansa, you sound like Lady Brienne.  I knew you would not be pleased with my decision about Jaime Lannister, but I did not think you would hold it against me.  Children should not begrudge a parent who knows better than them.”

“I beg your forgiveness, My Queen.  And I beg for you not to be upset with Lady Brienne either,” Sansa replied hastily.  “I have never known such a loss as she has suffered, though the murder of my family allows me to understand the emptiness she feels.  Your Grace would know much better how she grieves.”

“Of course I forgive the both of you, but I wish to not be reminded of his death every time I look at Lady Oathkeeper.  I do not understand how I would know better than you what she is going through.”

Sansa blushed.  “Well, I have never loved a man.”

There was a sudden silence in the room that startled Sansa.  She watched as Daenerys stared at her and her mouth slowly parted.  She looked horrified.  _Could she have not known?_ The Queen pushed herself up from the couch and looked into the fire, her hands trembling on the mantle.  “She-she _loved_ him? That cannot be.  Jaime Lannister was a _kingslayer_.”

“Yes, Your Grace.  But we are so much more than the names that others give us.  Ser Jaime changed and Brienne accepted him for who he became…and eventually, for who he used to be.  She may never admit it to anyone, but I have come across them before on-on intimate moments.”

“And he loved her?” The Queen narrowed her eyes, daring Sansa to agree.  “The golden lion, who fell in love with a woman in his own image, could have fallen for our brutish lady? I doubt Brienne would have found he shared her feelings.”

“I am not sure he understood his feelings for her.  My sister, Arya, told me he was very lost after the death of the False Queen, but he came back to life whenever Brienne was around.  He may not have come to fully accept his love for her, but he did live for her.”

“And he died for her,” the Queen’s words were no more than a whisper.  Sansa wanted to ask more, but she did not know what then to say.  “Lady Sansa, though the other Wardens will be departing soon, I must ask that you stay longer.  I fear I have been unfeeling towards Lady Brienne’s mourning and your friendship may help her heal.  There is also something that must be done and I have a notion she will not be willing to obey at first.”

Sansa doubted there was anything Brienne would balk at if it kept her mind off of her pain.  The uncertainty in Her Grace’s voice caused her to pause before she gave the only reply available to her: “Of course.”

Daenerys Targaryean pulled her slender fingers into a fist and whirled to regard her Warden of the North.  Her smooth and plump lip drew back into a snarl and an inelegant hiss escaped the perfect column of her throat.  With a fire burning in her lavender eyes, she snapped, “Now I must make a private call to Lord Tyrion.” 


	10. I'll Wake Up Tomorrow and I'll Start, Tonight It Feels So Hard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so nervous (and excited) for you all to read this chapter! The comments from the last chapter just warmed my heart, so thank you everyone for taking the time to bolster my confidence. I hope everyone likes this little taste into what is going on!
> 
> And Coraleeveritas, what can I say besides you are the best thing a shipper could have?! Without sharing this with you and having you make it better, I would have never tried to finish this. Thank you!!!
> 
> LOVE!

The Present.

Brienne had no choice but to get on the boat.  Her legs had been stiff and her body and mind cried for her to put up a fight.  But what else was she to do? The Queen commanded her to go, so Brienne could only go.  In a sense, it was a relief to leave.  Perhaps sleeping in an unfamiliar bed and roaming an unfamiliar land, Brienne could create herself anew and put back the pieces to her crumbling visage of what the world was supposed to be like.  She tried not to think about what she would have to endure to be given a second chance.  She refused to dwell about what she had left behind.

When Tommen would come of age, Her Grace had promised to send him to Tarth.  She had also vowed to consult Brienne before declaring a suitable husband for Myrcella.  Yet, the look in the Lannisters’ jade eyes told her that none of these things mattered to them.  She could not meet their gazes as she boarded the ship.  If she did, she would not see Tommen and Myrcella.  She would find Jaime watching from the shore as she left her oaths to him and her loss of him behind.  _I have failed him again_.  _I am a coward, running away from the values I threw in his face for so long.  No wonder he did not love me_.  It was a cold chant that she played in her mind during the first days of her journey.

Pod had eagerly agreed to accompany her to continue to be her squire.  Brienne tried not to think about how that had settled with the Imp.  Of course, Sansa was there as well and made a mission to develop Brienne’s political skills, which would be needed in her new position of power.  She also suspected that the Warden of the North planned to act as a shield against the backlash of the Queen’s command and as an anchor to keep Brienne from trying to drift again.  The presence of the two was the only matter that she had actually agreed to.  The rest she had accepted with stony silence.

During the nights on the ship, Brienne dreamed as she had been doing for months.  She was lost in a forest of fall.  The sun filtered through birch trees, setting the thin leaves of crimson and gold on fire.  None of the foliage fell, though, and Brienne sat in an untainted field of lush grass, running her hands through blades of brilliant jade at the base of one of the trees.  Jaime was everywhere. 

On the rolling sea, her body rocked on her cot and she tumbled through the forest in her dream.  Day turned to black and she was once again plunged into the Darkness.  The scene turned to the only nightmare she had experienced during her time at the Wall.  The white birches were set to ice by a pale moon and a figure approached through the stands.  Cold and angry, Jaime was before her.  His emerald eyes had been swallowed by a dead blue gaze and they bored into her, making her clutch at her heart.  _He knows what I have done and he will not forgive me for it_.

After a few nights, Brienne no longer slept in her cabin, attempting to escape the torture of her heart.  She sat on the deck, letting the sea spray burn and heal the wounds of her thoughts.  She would only sleep lightly and the slightest noise would rouse her before she could dream again.  She resumed polishing Oathkeeper every evening, a task she had not been steadfast in since she was released into a world void of Jaime.  The motions of her hand down the steel soothed her, reminding her that she could not break unless she allowed it.  She was still a knight.  Lady Oathkeeper.  The Maid of Tarth.  Brienne.  Her self and her titles would not be taken from her.

Sansa clearly noticed the change in Brienne, but she was gentle enough not to say anything outright.  She simply began to explain to Brienne the plans she had been making while Brienne had come to terms with her future and her past.  Jaime Lannister would be the only man she would ever love and for the trust and affection he had shown her, she would not lay down her sword, but she would do what she must.  She would have made him understand.

“I am assuming Lord Jarod has not made any arrangements while we have been travelling,” Sansa sighed.  “Tyrion sent the raven announcing our arrival only as we left port.”

“I suppose that was for the best,” Brienne replied.  “There is little and less he can do about the situation.”

“Yes, well,” Sansa made a dainty noise to clear her throat.  “At least we shall see if there is truly a ‘he’.  I suspect we shall be alone in settling into Pentos since Tyrion seems to have no desire to help us beyond this point.  It will probably be your responsibility now to hire men off the streets that can fit into that ghastly armor.”

Brienne had never been curious about the face behind the Warden of the East.  She had heard Sansa tell Pod she thought it would be stuffed with pieces of enchanted parchment that the Imp would send to control the empty armor.  It was most likely a shell, just like Robert Strong.  _But, then how…?_

“Sansa!” Brienne gasped as a thought just struck her.  She looked at her with wide eyes and felt the blood rush to her cheeks.  “They-they will expect _children_!”

Sansa cast her a knowing look.  She leaned back and regarded the maid sagely.  “Sires can be hired as well, Brienne.”

Brienne shook her head.  There was indeed a man inside that armor and the idea that he may not be the puppet Sansa seemed sure he would be worried her all the more.

A few days later, the captain announced that they were nearing their meeting point on the outskirts of Pentos.  Word had been sent while they were on the ship that Ser Addam would be waiting to take them quietly through the city.  Brienne had peered out over the ocean to try to glimpse land.  In the horizon, she saw the waves crash against the shores of the city.  Further in the distance, the domed buildings of the Capitol shone gold against the sun.  She closed her eyes and tried to imagine that she was sailing home to Tarth.  But even that dream did not sooth her.

The ship hardly bumped against the eroding wooden dock.  Brienne had been pleased with the crew that had been commanded to take the three with them to Pentos.  She figured she would have to find some way to pay them for their efforts.  Queen Daenerys had seemed to expect the captain would transport the group simply out of love for Her Grace.  At one point in her life, Brienne would have assumed the same.  Now, she knew to make sure she pressed some coins into as many hands as she would pass when she climbed down to the dock.

“We will gather our belongings momentarily,” Sansa told the captain before she followed Brienne.  She also placed a payment into the man’s palm.  “The Warden on the East thanks you for this service.”

Brienne sighed.  _So we have left Westeros and the reach of the Queen’s hand far behind_.  That was the reason why they were there, after all.

Ser Addam Marbrand was standing off to the side of the empty port, waiting to greet them, holding the reins of horses to make their journey through the city.  There was also a row of carriages behind him.  Clearly the Warden had been given as little information about the change in command as Sansa and Brienne.  She almost pitied Ser Addam as he frowned at the two of them, standing alone on the dock with only Pod as their entourage.  “This-er, this is not what I had expected.”

“I am sure your lord will say the same thing,” Brienne snorted, crossing her arms.  “Sorry to disappoint you, Ser.”

“Please,” Addam was looking around as if for others.  “You have to explain all of this, Brienne.  I had expected a household to escort some frightened _child_ to wed the Warden of the East not-“ Brienne could hardly hide the cringe that hunched her shoulders as the thought of marriage flitted through her mind.

“Queen Daenerys requested a small party to accompany the bride, of trusted friends,” Sansa broke in.  Addam turned to her slowly.  Brienne watched as his mind tried to make sense of her words.  Then, realization seemed to dawn over his face.  He smiled knowingly and pointed to Sansa.  _He still does not understand_.  Sansa sighed.  “ _Brienne_ is to marry Lord Jarod.”

Brienne had expected Ser Addam to be angry or pitiful, but she had not anticipated him to double over from laughter.  He slapped his knee, startling the horse next to him.  As he tried to gain back his breath, Brienne saw Sansa and Pod exchange worried glances.  “My apologies!” Ser Addam gasped, wiping a tear from his eye.  He swung his arm casually around Brienne and steered her back towards the ship.  “It is just…how could she let you…oh, I am looking forward to this! Get dressed, My Lady.  We have a wedding to plan!” They boarded once more and Addam moved her towards the steps to the cabins.

Brienne had to stoop low to keep her head from hitting the bottom of the deck as she descended, mumbling to herself about the complexities of men.  She could hear the boots of the sailors moving quickly above her, but their words mixed with the cries of seagulls.  She frowned, looking at her armor strewn across her cot.  She slid on slim blue breeches that fit easily inside new leather boots, a gift from Ser Davos upon their departure, laced up to her knees.  The tunic she chose was made of a fine navy silk, which had been cuffed at the elbows and cut low to reveal the tops of her meager breasts.  She wanted desperately to hide under her armor as well, but she was already sweltering in the heat that had been plaguing Pentos.  Apparently winter had only been a short affair on this side of the Narrow Sea.  She thought she might faint from the heat before reaching the Capitol if she tried wearing armor.  So, she belted Oathkeeper around her waist and slipped on thin leather gloves that only reached her wrists.

Sansa stepped through the door as Brienne made to leave.  She bumped into the wall as the galley swayed, causing Brienne to reach out to steady her.  She threw the clothes that had been in her hands onto the cot while tossing back her red braid.  “I was born to ride horses, not waves,” she grumbled.  Sansa turned to regard Brienne with her hands on her hips.  “Seven hells, Brienne.  You are not going looking like _that_.”

“How should I look? Like a proper lady? You have seen me in a dress, Sansa, and I look ridiculous.  This is who I am and this is how I dress.  I will not lead the Warden of the East to think I am anything that I am not,” Brienne replied.

“At least pack away Oathkeeper,” Sansa begged.  “You are wearing the sword of another man!”

“It is a gift from a friend,” Brienne retorted, putting a hand on one of the lions engraved into the hilt.  “A _dead_ friend.  Jarod Daxo Xhoan should not be jealous of a ghost.  You said that he is supposed to be a man of great virtue, a brave knight.  Why should he care?”

Sansa tried not to roll her eyes.  Brienne was being stubborn again.  “I also said that Queen Daenerys sent you here to keep an eye on… _him_ and be his voice of reason.  You are supposed to appear to be his gentle counsel, feeding the words of the Queen to him as his partner.  You look like you are to be one of his guards instead of his _bride_!”

“If his _advisors_ are causing the throne so much trouble, then it needs to be seen that I should be respected, not played with.  I will be his equal, not some tittering maiden that looks pretty on his arm at feasts.”

“It is too much of a surprise, Brienne.  All the Queen told Lord Jarod, _and_ his court, in the letter was that she was sending a high born lady to wed him so that Westeros and the Free Cities would be united by blood.  They will _expect_ a tittering maiden.”

Brienne frowned, suddenly feeling frightened.  _United by blood.  Gods, they will demand me to bear children, one way or another.  And soon, no doubt_.  “Let’s just get this over with, Sansa.  Go tell Pod to make sure everything is ready and I will meet you back on the deck.” Brienne made her way up the stairs and found a spot against the bannister to look out over the ocean, her back to the city that would hold her future.  Her hand went idly to Oathkeeper.  _What am I supposed to do, Jaime? With you gone, all I have is my duty_.  She had never imagined, however, that her duty would require her to try to love someone.  Not again.  Her thoughts did not hold on long to the memories of her youth and the failed suitors her father had presented her with.  At least, she thought, she was strong enough to handle the rejection this time.

When Sansa had returned to the deck, she watched Pod making the first of many trips down to the dock with their belongings.  Though Brienne and Pod would be in Pentos indefinitely, neither had felt the need to bring more than a few small possessions.  They had both learned to care for little other than their steel.  It would be no different for them here, though they would have to learn to fight with their tongues more than their swords in this new position thrust on them both.  Sansa’s gowns took up most of their baggage.  It made Brienne smile sadly.

Sansa joined her at the bannister, her bright blue eyes reflecting the aquamarine waters that rolled gently against the hull.  Though she was a proper lady, a title Brienne admired in her, Sansa kept a fierceness about her that could surge greater than the force that Brienne had found in Lady Catelyn.  Only fools called Sansa the Ice Queen, for anyone that gazed into the waters of her eyes would see that ocean set aflame.

“I will have a word with Ser Addam concerning his impropriety,” Sansa simmered.

“It is something I have to get used to,” Brienne sighed.  “I rather enjoy his attitude.  At least I will be able to see his many expressions, unlike my lord husband.”

“Brienne,” Sansa started, resting cool, willowy fingertips on her exposed skin, above her glove.  “I know the fear of marriage…” Though Sansa paused to collect her resolve, Brienne did not interrupt the warden.  She rarely spoke of her time in the Vale or her marriage to Jaime’s brother.  No one mentioned Joffrey, except Tyrion, when he was drunk enough.  Those events occurred in a time long ago and the people who lived in them were not the same when the sun rose after the Darkness.  “But I am not the girl I was when I was betrothed or a wife.  And you are not anything like me then or now.  My-my mother did not love my father when they were first wed and you are more like her.  If there is one man inside that absurd armor, perhaps you could come to love him as well.  Lord Jarod comes across as fierce and defiant and commanding.  Perhaps he could be noble and gentle, also.” Sansa looked up at Brienne.  They exchanged glances that spoke of all the hopes a maid could have before her wedding day.  More than that, Brienne knew of all she could withstand.  Sansa sighed and patted her arm.  “Regardless, I know you will be strong and this man will bend to the power of your beliefs and your honor, Brienne, just as hundreds have done before him.  Her Grace sent you because you must do in Pentos what you did on the Wall.”

Brienne was relieved to hear the truth of it from a woman who she easily referred to as her friend.  She felt the need to comfort her more than herself.  “My father loved my mother dearly.  It broke him when she died, but he tried to continue to perform his duty as the Evenstar and find another wife and make more heirs.  But I do not think that they could have compared to her in his eyes.” Sansa frowned at her and Brienne realized that she was comparing herself to her father and Jaime to her mother.  She was allowing her heart to let Lord Jarod be just another man that could not take Jaime’s place in her heart.  Brienne promised herself not to think of it that way after today.  “My father would be pleased to see me betrothed to the Warden of the East.  I will bring my children to Tarth and show them their other home.” At the thought, Brienne’s heart lightened.  Sansa smiled as well, sensing some ease in the knight.  Together, they made their way to the ladder and to Ser Addam and Pod waiting on the dock. 

Despite Brienne’s reassurance, Sansa pulled a surprised Ser Addam aside as she and Pod went to pack up the horses.  There would be no need for the carriages that had been brought along as well.

Brienne tried to keep an eye on the two as she strapped a roll of clothing to the large mare she had chosen.  Sansa was speaking with her hands on her hips, as she had done with Arya so long ago, in an attempt to mirror her mother.  At first, Ser Addam was listening sullenly with his arms crossed, seemingly mollified by her harsh words.  After a while, though, he threw back his head and laughed, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword and the other falling to Sansa’s shoulder.  Brienne moved towards them at the gesture just as Sansa easily swatted off the touch.  She paused now that Ser Addam was talking, a wide grin plastered on his face.  And suddenly the Warden of the North gasped loud enough for Brienne to hear from her respectable distance and sat down hard on a crate that was nearby, skirts billowing around her legs.

Brienne approached them just as Ser Addam dipped his head to whisper to Sansa.  She could barely make out the final words of the conversation as she strode towards them.  “Get Lord Jarod’s cloak around those huge shoulders, Sansa, and they may let her see him.  They are so close-”

“Sansa,” Brienne interrupted.  The lady looked up at her with startled, glassy eyes.  She opened her mouth in an attempt to speak, but something in Brienne’s expression must have amused her because she had to bite her tiny hand to keep a giggle from escaping.  “Is everything fine? Is there something I should _know_?” The two seemed to have forgotten that Brienne was the one about to be married.

“No, no, no”, Sansa replied once she had extracted her hand.  She held it out for Brienne to take so that she could stand again.  With a final glance at Ser Addam, she hooked her arm with Brienne’s, leading her back to the horses, smiling beautifully for the first time in many moons.  “I am just eager to see this affair behind us and you s _ettled_ into living in Pentos.  There are so many things here we have yet to see!” 


	11. I Never Thought That You Would Be The One To Hold My Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had intended for this to be posted before the weekend, but I am suffering from a terrible case of writer's block. That being said, I have to say how important Coraleeveritas is to me and this story. I hated this chapter until she put her magic touch on it and I do not think I would have been able to post this as quickly, or even at all, without her.
> 
> A million thanks to everyone that has read and commented!! You are also the reason I have been able to battle this block! I did not mean the last chapter to be a tease (but I was thrilled with the reactions anyway!), but this one is intentional. I really hope you all like this!
> 
> LOVE!!!!!

The Present

Ser Addam was able to sneak them into a small door hidden in the wall that wrapped itself around Pentos before dumping into the bay that was at their backs.  He turned around in his saddle to offer Brienne a toothy smile.  She idly wondered how that charm made the ladies in Westeros melt.  She rather had the urge to shove him off of his horse.  “At least with this bizarre party, no one will have a _clue_ that we are escorting the new Lady of the Free Cities.”

“Ser!” Sansa hissed.  She glanced over at Brienne nervously, as if she could read her thoughts about sending Addam into the sand.  Then, she tilted her head to the side and sucked in her bottom lip.  “You know, Brienne, perhaps we _could_ try to braid your hair or maybe at least unlace your tunic a bit more…” She tried to reach over to pull at one of the silk strings, but Brienne reined her mount away from Sansa’s grasp.  It took the reserve that she had learned the past year in King’s Landing not to slap the girl’s pale wrist from her.

“There will be no more jokes and no more remarks about my appearance from either of you,” Brienne spat hotly.  _If this is the treatment I receive from my friends, how can I expect anything better from the people of Pentos or Lord Jarod?_

“Oh, Brienne, I-I am so sorry,” Sansa replied quickly.  She placed her hand on her cheek as she flushed from embarrassment.  There was yet another exchange of glances between her and Ser Addam.

Brienne was about to demand that they tell her what it is that they clearly knew in regards to their presence in the city, but Pod spoke up for the first time since leaving the ship.  “I think you-you look very gallant, Ser.”  Sansa frowned at him.  “My Lady!”

Brienne sighed. “Thank you, Pod.” She let the silence that followed and the heat of the day wash over her.  Brienne cast her eyes about the path Ser Addam was leading them as it weaved its way to the Capitol.  The road was dappled in brilliant sunlight and diffused grey shadows, cast by the lush green trees that bowed above their heads.  Brienne closed her eyes, feeling the light dance across her lids, relishing the cooling of the air as they moved in and out of the shade.  Somewhere, she heard the melodious notes of a wind chime and the gentle lull of a fountain.   _If I can find peace anywhere, perhaps it will be here._

It had been years since Brienne contemplated her own future. She had resigned herself to dying at some point in her search for the Starks or during the Darkness.  The only comfort that she had taken was in the promise that she and Jaime had made to fight and die together.  Those comforts had crumbled during peace, however.  The simplicities of war could no longer be afforded and Jaime’s death had been just as effectual in the game of thrones as her survival.  She was left to come to terms with what their brotherly vow had actually meant.  Brienne had loved him fiercely, perhaps since the day Jaime had followed her to the Vale instead of running back to Cersei.  She knew now he had done it out of fear of facing his sister, but it did nothing to lessen her feelings towards him then, or even after he was gone.  Her words of love had still tumbled so freely from her well-kissed mouth that last day in her cell.  She could only hope that they would be so easy to say again, though it would most likely be towards any children she had rather than to her husband.  She vowed to try to love because she was learning the broken heart of a woman was more unbearable to live with than any wound she had ever received as a knight. She vowed to try because she did not want the pain anymore and could only hope that in death she may be allowed to glimpse Jaime again, even if he was at the side of his sister. 

As they moved deeper into the city, their path was shared by children, merchants, and even the occasional soldier.  Sansa, in her heavy northern skirts, grimaced at the airy cloth garments the women of Pentos wore.  Brienne wondered if she would still be so disapproving after a few days of the heat cooking her legs underneath the layers of fabric.  She was planning on acquiring loose linen pants and billowy tunics like she had seen some of the men wear and she had to laugh at the thought of herself.  It would be quite a sight to see the Warden of the East, clad entirely in armor, looking like a fool boiling inside all of that metal, while his bride was dressed like a man.  Once anyone took a look upon her ruined face or her other unattractive features and masculine body, they would most likely demand that she don the armor, to the save the people of Pentos the sight of her.

Once they had entered another ring of wall that encircled the Capitol itself, Brienne found her thoughts wandering back to why she, of all those close to the queen, would have been given the task to help rule the east.  She had not expected Her Grace to further her exile from Westeros by demanding her power be tied through marriage.  It would have been simpler if she had been sent as an advisor. She had mentioned this to Sansa as they had crossed the Narrow Sea.

The warden had laid a soft hand on her broad shoulders, a small smile playing on her lips. “Perhaps. But they will think Lord Jarod only sufficiently restrained by his wife’s sword.  You are, after all, Lady Oathkeeper, soon to be wed to the man that has caused more trouble for the Dragon Queen than the Others.  No ordinary woman would be expected to contain that airy defiance he seems to enjoy throwing around.”

Brienne had to agree that there were no ordinary women acting as wardens of the other provinces and she felt a small swell of pride becoming one of them.  Yet, Sansa, Asha, and Arianne had not been commanded to marry.  It was a blessing to be given the freedom to not be forced into a political union, but she was also beginning to suspect that it was anticipated that the wardens would never marry.  It would allow Queen Daenerys to choose whomever she wanted to replace the women, without the obligation of passing the title to their offspring.  Brienne did not think Sansa had come to terms with these notions.  She added another vow in her head, that she would try to love for Sansa, who may never have the chance of a family. 

By the time Brienne found herself at the entrance to the Capitol, she had sealed the part of her that would always belong to Jaime and prepared herself to face her duty.  The massive golden doors that led to the throne room were pushed open by four guards, each from the lands of the three wardens and King’s Landing.  Sansa arched a thin auburn eyebrow at this and Brienne noticed her expression held some pleasure in this obvious attempt at neutrality.  Brienne thought it was the smallest gesture the Lord of the Free Cities could make to remind the court of the rest of the world.  Her growing annoyance was quelled as soon as she glanced into the room beyond.  The space had ceilings so high that Brienne had to squint to see the tops of the columns that supported them.  Sunlight filtered through from clear glass above and from stained glass windows along her right and left side.  Between the windows were marble archways that led out onto a terrace that surrounded the throne room, which was several floors up, allowing for a view over the entire city as well as the shore beyond the pale walls protecting Pentos.  Her boots were quiet as she walked along the green velvet runner that had been placed from the door to the marble stairs that led to where a throne had once been placed.  Now, there was only a simple chair made out of mahogany with a single silk cushion for a seat and a back.  Brienne was struck by the humility in Lord Jarod’s throne.  _There is indeed one man in that armor.  What is he hiding and why is he worth Queen Daenerys keeping his secret?_   

Sansa noticed the chair as well and for some reason, turned to frown at Ser Addam questioningly.  Their swaggering friend had been replaced by a stoic knight once they had entered the throne room, who simply nodded for them to proceed.  Sansa stepped forward to take Brienne’s arm and the two, trailed by Pod, made their way through the members of the court.  Brienne realized that most of the rich high born of the Free Cities had come to see the new bride.  She blushed furiously under their stares, their whispers rising to the ceiling, only to swirl and rush down at her.  She was grateful for the reassuring pressure from Sansa’s hand, otherwise she did not think she would have made it to the foot of the stairs.

A Braavosi herald stepped forward.  In a ringing, singsong voice he shouted “Bow lords and ladies of the Free Cities, for your Voice to the Queen, your Servant, who gives mind, body, and soul to the honor of the East graces us! Bow to Lord Jarod Xoros Xhan, Uniter of lands, Bringer of Peace!” 

Brienne rolled her eyes and inclined her head while Sansa dipped for a small curtsey.  Jarod was, after all, Sansa’s equal, but she was in the presence of his own people and knew to show greater respect for his power in the Free Cities.  Brienne could barely make herself nod.  She was, however, surprised to see the man that entered from curtains next to the raised dais.  He was clad in shining armor of polished silver, with scrolls of gold running down his arms.  His gloves, and boots however, were only lightly gauntleted.  _Some reprieve from this heat_ , Brienne assumed.  Since he carried no sword, she figured that this must merely be a show, a reminder that the Dragon Queen ruled from Westeros, where knights were the heroes, not the men that held the most gold.  Lord Jarod also wore a helm that covered his entire face and was hinged at the brow to swing open in the front.  It was closed, though, and Brienne could only make out the glint of eyes behind the slits in the visor.  She cast a look at Sansa to find her lips pursed in disapproval.  Or, perhaps, she was regretting trying to make Brienne leave her own armor behind. 

Ser Jarod looked down at the pair and his body suddenly went rigid.  He quickly placed his left hand out to grip the arm of the chair.  The room had grown so quiet that Brienne could hear his rapid breathing inside the helm.  She could feel his eyes burning into her and she shifted uncomfortably.  As a child, her suitors had always said _something_ , cruel and demeaning, but it had always been _something_.  The silence was worse.

“Lord Jarod, it has been too long since we could meet in person,” Sansa attempted another bow.  She spoke loud enough that the rest of the court could hear.  “Though your letters are always informative and entertaining.” The lords and ladies sniggered at that.  “I present to you Lady Brienne of Tarth, the fabled shieldmaiden from the War of Darkness and advisor to Queen Daenerys.” Sansa waved her other hand and Pod hurriedly went to fill it with a parchment sealed with a dragon.  “I have here a letter from Her Grace thanking you for your service and wishing you many sons in your marriage to Lady Brienne-“

Lord Jarod had not said a word, nor moved, as Sansa spoke but as the situation seemed to sink in, he let out a bark of laughter.  Brienne gritted her teeth.  _First Ser Addam and now him_.  “The Queen has sent this woman to be my wife?” There was anger in the voice, but not contempt.  Brienne could not hear the other emotions.  The man sounded hollow with his words clanging around the inside of the helm.

“Yes, My Lord,” Sansa paused before saying quietly, “She has _commanded_ it.” Brienne would have been mortified to hear that as a child, but those were the same words the Queen had used on her to force her onto the boat.  For a moment, Brienne pitied this Lord Jarod just as she had pitied herself.

“Everyone. Out,” the armored man growled.  There was a lull before all of the lords and ladies, the guards, and members of the house bustled themselves out.  Apparently, he had dismissed court in a similar fashion before.  Brienne made also to leave, but Sansa gripped her arm.  “He did not mean us,” she whispered.  Brienne silently wished he had.  She would rather come to him after he had a chance to accept his fate as she has been able to do.  Though she had not seen the man behind the helm, it mattered little now.

When the doors had closed on the final guest, the room only held Brienne, Sansa, and Pod along with Lord Jarod, Ser Addam, and two counselmen, a man from Qarth and a woman from Dorne.  Jarod strode down the steps and right up to Brienne.  She fought the urge to step back, but her hand went to the hilt of her sword.  Jarod saw the movement.  He tilted his head to speak to Sansa.  “This letter.  You have read it?”

“Queen Daenerys specified it was for you only.” She held it out for him to take.

Jarod ripped open the seal and appeared to be reading its contents.  “And how do you feel about this arrangement?’

It took Brienne a moment to realize that he was addressing her, the first time he had done so since she arrived.  “I trust in Her Grace’s decisions.  The west and the east should be better united.”

The helm jerked up to watch her.  She flinched.  “If I had wanted a diplomatic answer, I would have asked her,” he tossed his weighted head towards Sansa, who was now glaring outright.  “Hard to believe you have no one back home who would rather marry you.”

Brienne knew she should be outraged by his forwardness, but she was not.  It all felt too familiar and too painful.  He wanted her to look hurt or angry.  He wanted her to say something harsh.  She would not give him that satisfaction.  She would give him the truth.  “The man I loved died.”

Lord Jarod leaned in closer to her, his voice menacing.  “A brave knight who died on the battlefield? A love from afar I would think.”

“No, _My Lord_ ,” she hissed. “He survived the War and had his head adorn a spike afterwards.”

 That snapped him back upright and he took a step away from her.  Brienne realized she had been holding her breath.  She crossed her arms.  _Let all these preconceived notions about me be dispelled with now so we can get on with this_.

“And did he love you back?” came the reply.  Lord Jarod was looking down at the parchment again, playing with the edges.

“It does not matter,” Brienne sighed.

“No, it does not.  You are mine now,” Jarod began laughing again.  He waved the parchment and moved back towards her.  He went down to one knee and pulled Brienne to him.  His left hand gripped her hip with a force, but his right hand simply pressed to her side, the fingers uncurling.  “You are mine now, wench.”

Brienne heard Sansa gasp, but it sounded far away.  She could still hear the ringing of Jarod’s voice, unfamiliar in this place she had never been in and tumbling around to escape the metal confines of the helm.  It was a buzzing in her head that made her dizzy and want to run away.  Without thinking, Brienne grasped the edges of Jarod’s helm and wrenched it off of his head.  Glossy black hair tumbled out, too harsh and brilliant to be anything but dyed.  The color matched that of a neatly trimmed beard, which made him appear younger.  But the eyes that turned up to her were deep, emerald green, holding a look that was only for her.  She had seen those eyes every night in her dreams.

“Jaime.”


	12. Here Beneath My Lungs, I Feel Your Thumbs Press Into My Skin Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank You Thank You Thank You to everyone that has been reading this story! I died from happiness from all of the amazing comments on the previous chapter. I hope after everything I have put Jaime and Brienne through that these last two chapters live up to the "fluff" tag. This one is a bit longer than usual, I think, and I am pretty nervous about it.
> 
> Coraleeveritas has a little piece of my shipper heart after all of the conversations and encouragements we have shared. I have definitely needed the direction and support to push through the writer's block!
> 
> LOVE!!!

The Present

Brienne dropped the helm.  The room was spinning and her eyes could not focus on anything as she drowned in the green sea staring beseechingly up at her.  Her knees gave out and she kneeled on the velvet runner.  A strong, comforting arm snaked around her waist to hug her back, catching her as she slinked to the floor.  A hand went to cup her chin, the thumb running along her ruined cheek in a gesture so familiar Brienne was assaulted with memories she had tried to repress over the past year.  Jaime Lannister held her, a grin breaking his face while his eyes roamed over her body.  Brienne tore off her gloves and took his chin in her hands, running her fingers through the prickly beard.  He was warm and she felt the muscles in his neck work as he gave a soft chuckle and pulled her closer to him.  He rested his forehead on hers.

“Jaime.“ His name was a prayer on her lips.  If she was asleep, let her never wake.  If this was death, then she would welcome it.  But the pain in her knees and the discomfort of being pressed against someone in full armor reminded her that she was awake and alive.  And he should be dead.  “How?”

The grin widened.  “Would you really like me to explain it all right now, Brienne? Or would you rather I kissed you?”

Brienne had not truly realized what it meant to be back in Jaime Lannister’s arms, but her stomach lurched at the thought that after all of this time, he would want to claim what she had given him in their parting kiss.  She tentatively slid her hands up his armor and circled them around his neck, leaning in to press her lips against his.  It was a simple kiss of pressure to reassure her that he was with her and that he really did desire her touch.  He pushed his mouth back on hers, tightening the hold he had around her upper body.  When Brienne tried to pull away, feeling the other eyes in the room on the two of them, Jaime stopped her by snaking his hand in her short hair.  He maneuvered her head to the side so that he could take her bottom lip, sucking on it while his right arm and left hand roamed over her.  The feeling of him touching every part of her that he could and the tingle of his beard as Brienne tried to mimic his kiss sent her entire body on fire.  She remembered the sensations of Jaime’s tongue inside her mouth and parted her lips tentatively, hoping he would recognize the invitation.  Without hesitation, his tongue slid across hers.  This time, there was no urgency and despair, both battling to consume and remember the passion.  Jaime was languid, drawing out shivers through her body as if he had explored it many times before and knew what sent her to the seven heavens

After a moment, Brienne broke away to catch her breath, but she could not keep herself from caressing every part of him.  She kissed down his cheek, his chin, his neck, until she found a spot below his ear that made Jaime moan and clench her tunic.  Brienne gasped, feeling the blush creep up her face as she pushed herself away.  She remembered that there were others in the throne room and what was supposed to have been an embrace of rediscovery had turned into something Brienne could not have imagined.

Jaime, however, looked pleased.  He got to his feet and held out a hand to help Brienne up as well.  Without thinking, she waved it away and stood.  Jaime smiled and handed her the letter from Queen Daenerys.  Then, he went over to Sansa with a bow and a peck on the cheek.  He clapped Pod on the shoulder and turned back to Brienne.  The other two looked at her as well, the shock she still felt mirrored in their features. 

Sansa, surprisingly, recovered first.  She squared her shoulders and strode to Jaime where he stood next to Pod.  He was smiling slightly until he read the heated look in her Tully blue eyes.  Before any of the knights in the room could react, she swung back her tiny hand and slapped Jaime across the jaw.  The sound rang hollowly in the massive throne room, but Jaime’s head did not even move.  “You-you bastard!” Sansa growled.

Jaime laughed, rubbing his gloved hand across his chin.  “Jarod is the bastard, remember, My Lady? I am-“

“A coward,” Sansa interrupted.  She whirled on Ser Addam, who was no longer standing like stone, but lounging his weight on one leg, arms crossed, and eyeing the Warden of the North appraisingly.  “You told me he was _in_ Pentos, not that he was the fool underneath this preposterous armor.” If Brienne had been able to keep up with what was occurring since she had entered the room, she may have spoken up that Sansa had known at least part of what she was walking into and must of thought it humorous to keep her in the dark.  As it was, she was having trouble concentrating on anything but Jaime.  She would have to have a word with Sansa about this later, though.

Ser Addam simply shrugged.  “Here he is, in Pentos.”

“Go ahead and read the letter, Brienne,” Jaime sighed.

Brienne opened the parchment and read, “ _Brave and Humble Lord Jarod, I will pray to the Seven for the health and happiness in your marriage.  I will also pray for myself and ask the Mother and you for forgiveness.  What I gave to you came at a price, but I did not know the weight of that price or that another paid it as well.  I would never wish any of my children to know the loss of a loved one as I experienced with the death of my Sun and Stars.  However, I will also not tolerate the schemes of my councilmen behind my back.  I have given your brother too much control of the lands that welcomed me before the west even cared of my existence.  And you seem to have enjoyed the power that being far out of my reach has afforded you.  Both of you have failed to mention to me the reason behind my lady advisor’s dead stares, though it seems that many were well aware.  In order to ensure that my presence and my wishes are met in the Free Cities and that I am never denied information again, I must remind you that Lady Brienne will indeed be exercising her authority as a Warden of the East.  You have still proven to be my faithful and loyal servant, Lord Jarod.  I give back to you what was never mine to take and I am reminded of what the Ironborn are known to say: What is dead may never die.  Queen Daenerys Stormborn, Ruler of Westeros and the Free Cities, Mother of Dragons._ ”

“Her Grace let everyone believe you are dead and smuggled you into Pentos to _rule_?” Sansa gasped.

Jaime shrugged.  “’Govern’ may be a better term.  She needed someone she could trust and control to manage these people, who had been hard to command even when she was present in the Free Cities.  Who better than a dead man with loved ones she held as wards and _advisors_?” He sneered at the word and moved to take Brienne’s hand, as if to reassure himself that she was still there.  She squeezed hers back.  “The deal was that I would help her with the east and she would redeem the honor of the Lannister name for my children’s sake.”

“And Brienne?” Sansa inquired.

“She clearly had no notion of my feelings, but she must have known Brienne was another bargaining tool when I asked Tyrion to take her with me.  If I betrayed the queen as a warden, then she would mark Brienne a conspirator and make Tarth a prison island, with its lady as the first inmate.”

“Why not send Tyrion to be the warden and kill you?” Brienne asked.

“Whose idea do you think this was?” Jaime laughed, gesturing at the letter.  “Daenerys admitted that she could not convince herself to take my head for killing Aerys, considering everything else that happened during the Darkness.  But Westeros would never bend the knee if they saw a weakness.  So, Tyrion offered to sneak me out of the west as I had once done for him.  A Lannister always pays his debts, you see.” 

“And here you sat,” Brienne snapped, not sure why she was suddenly angry.  She wrenched her hand from his gentle grip.  “ _Governing_ the Free Cities, feasting at court, sleeping in the Lord’s tower while we mourned for you!”

“Every night I wrote you a letter, telling you where I was, Brienne,” Jaime shot back.  “And I burned it every time.  You were safer if you did not know.  Would it have been so terrible seeing the children grow to be amongst the honored and respected lords and ladies of Westeros? Would it have been so hard to serve the Queen as a hero that was sung about and live in peace?”

“Yes!” The word echoed through the empty room.  Jaime blinked, at a loss for how to respond.  “Was it so easy for _you_?” Brienne shook her hand and brandished the letter.  She had thought that she would be strong enough for the rejection, but she felt herself mourning anew.  She thought back to the words she had thrown at Sansa outside the children’s solar: _Jaime never loved me_. “It gives my heart peace to know you are alive, Ser.  But I can go back to King’s Landing and never reveal the truth.  You do not want what Her Grace has offered.”

Jaime snatched the letter and grabbed her as if she would try to flee.  He shook her.  “Daenerys _gave_ you to me.  I lived for you, Brienne, not just when Jaime Lannister died but when the sun did not shine for _years_ , when my lover was murdered, when my children were taken, and the world was something I did not know anymore.  I wanted to die.  But I lived for you, stupid wench, and you accuse me of running and hiding for myself? You die, I die, yes, but you will _not_ die if I could help it.  And I could.  Now, for my good behavior, you were given to me and I mean to take you, Brienne.  You are mine and I am yours.” Jaime stole her for a quick, passionate kiss, breathing in sharply as if trying to capture her scent as well as her lips.  His words and mouth made her tremble and she was suddenly very aware that she was still a maid.  He moved away to only a breath from her face.  His eyes were dark and boring deep into her.  “Say it,” he whispered.

“You-you are mine and I-I am y-yours.”

They sealed the vows with a kiss, this time it was chaste, though the look in Jaime’s eyes told her that was the last of such things.  She blushed when she realized that she was eager for that.

“Ser Addam,” Jaime moved his eyes from her face and addressed the knight.  He slipped his arm around Brienne’s waist and said, “Please help Lady Sansa prepare a small wedding feast.  We will dine tomorrow night.” With a firm hold around her, Jaime practically pulled Brienne behind the curtain from which he had entered earlier.  His furtive grin was most likely an attempt to mirror the shy smile she offered him as she watched him yank off his gauntlets and toss them to the floor.  Jaime began to unbuckle the wooden hand that had been attached to his right arm and had been hidden under the gloves.  He moved deftly, making Brienne appreciate that he had learned to perform many of his tasks with his left hand rather than requiring the need to depend on anyone in Pentos.  Without considering how it would seem to Jaime, she snatched his fingers away from the belts and began to wrench the hand free.  He did not appear offended by her help as he took the opportunity to pull her hips closer to him before running his hand up her side and neck and tangling in her short hair.  Jaime dipped his head so that he could bury it in her shoulder.  The sharp inhale of his breath sent frissons down Brienne’s spine as she realized that he was trying to breath in her scent again.

The hand finally came loose and Jaime wasted no time circling his right arm around her back.  The occasions that they had embraced, seeking comfort in each other’s arms, had become cherished memories for her.  Being once again surrounded by the warmth and strength of Jaime, Brienne felt at home.  The sudden wetness of hot, sucking kisses along her collar, however, was not a sensation she was accustomed to.  She gasped as Jaime’s tongue pressed into the pulse skittering about her neck.  Her hands instinctively went to tug at the midnight locks that fell down his face.  She sighed sadly as she eyed the dyed hair peeking out between her fingers.  She yearned for the rich gold that had lit the back of her eyelids before she had tried to sleep all of these long nights without him.

The loss was quickly forgotten as Jaime raked his whiskers along the sensitive flesh of her jaw, rumbling low in his throat as it caused her to moan.  As soon as his sweet lips neared her, Brienne turned his head so that she could finally capture his teasing mouth.  Jaime relented happily, making soft groans of pleasure as she sucked at his lips and pushed herself completely against his armor.  Their kisses became just as desperate as they had been in her cell a year ago, but this time they were laced with the need to begin what they would have the rest of their lives to drown in.

Brienne tore herself away so that she could return to the spot next to Jaime’s ear that had made him loose his reserve earlier.  She bit down hungrily, not knowing why, but wanting to pull out an uncontrolled sound from him.  “Brienne,” he hissed, slipping his hand under her tunic to burn her naked flesh.  “I am going to die of pleasure if you do not release me.”

“It is you holding onto me, Ser,” Brienne easily shot back.  She could not believe quite believe she was stealing kisses from Jaime Lannister and bickering as they had always done.  Her shock multiplied when Jaime’s perfectly straight teeth set to scraping across any skin he could get to underneath her tunic.  He attempted to pull down the front fabric so that he could nuzzle his way to a breast.  His erratic breaths and the occasional swipe of his searching tongue finally made Brienne’s knees buckle.

“ _Now_ I am holding onto you, wench,” Jaime murmured as he kept her from sliding to the floor for the second time that day.

“We-we should discuss what we should do now.” Brienne tried to clear her head of the smoldering emerald gaze, consuming her in a fire that seemed to finally make her feel alive once more.

“There are many things we need to catch up on,” Jaime agreed, though his tone suggested he had other thoughts than political conversations.  “But, I need to know, Brienne…do you want this? Me?”

She reached up to tenderly trace the hard plane of Jaime’s cheekbone, an act she had tried to control herself from doing for years.  “If you will have me, Jaime.”

He grinned.  “Well that is settled then.” With a wink, Jaime guided her out from the curtain, snatched his helm from the ground, and slid it back over his head.  As he moved to the Qartheen councilman that had been present for their reunion, his Dornish counterpart approached her.  Brienne glanced at her sun beaten face only long enough to give her a nod.  The woman offered her a knowing smile and then motioned for her and Pod to follow.  Brienne cast her gaze down, not paying attention to where they were going, though she would have to learn the lay out of the Capital soon enough.  Instead, she watched the airy skirts of the councilwoman infront of her kick up and float around her ankles as she walked.

She still wanted to be furious with Jaime.  But she could not think of any way that he could have reached her this past year without one or both of their heads truly cleaved this time.  Keeping Brienne unknowing about Jaime’s whereabouts had been out of necessity.  If the people of Westeros found out that the Kingslayer was not only alive by the queen’s command, but he held a place of power, the fragile peace that Her Grace had forged with fire may well break apart.  Perhaps one day, Jaime could loose the helm, but not before the people were united as strongly as the Wall.

The true target of Brienne’s ire fell to Tyrion.  She had no doubts that he had known what her and Jaime’s separation would do to the both of them and he had done nothing if not prolong their own tortures.  If he had spoken to Queen Daenerys, he could have convinced her to let Brienne disappear as well.  Instead, Lady Oathkeeper had been used like a piece on a cyvasse board.  If Tyrion had been what she had trusted him to be, a friend, then she and Jaime would not have ever needed to part.  Like so many other things, though, the matters that were so clear during the war turned out to be muddied by peace.

As the councilwoman ushered her and Pod into the antechamber of Lord Jarod, Brienne sensed her anger rush from her and drop in her stomach.  She felt cold nerves turn her insides to ice as she realized she was in Jaime’s rooms.  Surprisingly, they appeared quite sparse.  There was not a single house sigil or personal affect in the solar.  Though Brienne was not one for sentimental items, Jaime had a way of holding on to things out of amusement.  There was not even a book or a goblet of wine to be found.  She was beginning to suspect that these were indeed Lord Jarod’s rooms, but Jaime spent his time elsewhere.  She idly wondered if she was expected to spend her nights here or if she could be with Jaime wherever he slept.  She blushed at that thought, but felt determined to ensure that her evenings would be warmed by Jaime.  Her husband.

Brienne left Pod to hover by the fireplace while she tentatively made her way to the bedchamber.  It was a circular room that contained a large bed, its dark wooden posts rising to the domed ceiling and two plush high backed chairs that sat next to a small marble table in front of another fireplace.  There was also a tall wardrobe and a mirror that could even reflect all of Brienne’s massive figure.  She thought the space was too practical for Jaime.  There should have been parchments strewn about, discarded boots by the bed, or a piece of armor or a swordbelt somewhere.  She had not realized how much she had been aching for a sign of Jaime’s presence.

As if she had called him, Brienne heard Jaime’s voice drift through to the bedroom.  “Podrick!” Without the helm, his voice rang familiar and comforting.  Since no one was in the chamber to watch her, Brienne sat on the edge of the bed, closing her eyes to savor the sound.  “Where is your lady knight?”

“I-She went to the, er, bedroom, Lord, uh, Jarod.”

“’Ser Jaime’ will be fine when we are in private company. Pod.  Now, if you do not mind, I would very much like to be alone with Brienne.” Her heart fluttered at that and she snapped her eyes open to watch the entrance to the bedroom.

“Shall I remove you-your armor, Ser?”

“I only require that you remove yourself, Pod,” Jaime laughed.  The noise caused Brienne’s chest to tighten and she found herself moving towards his deep voice.  “Besides, you are not my squire and I would be loathe to take the task away from the only person whose hands I want on me at the moment.”

“Jaime, stop scandalizing the boy!” Brienne barked as she came upon the threshold.  She had expected his back to be turned to her, but Jaime was facing away from Pod and had been surveying the bedroom foyer intently.  Though Pod stood behind Jaime, blushing harshly, Brienne realized he had not been the target of Jaime’s teasing.  She felt the heat rush to her cheeks and neck, but she was horrified to feel a lick of flame slipping between her legs.  “Pod, perhaps you could have Ser Addam find you appropriate quarters.”

Podrick seemed keen to leave and he made his way to the door.  Jaime, meanwhile, was stalking towards her, a feral grin on his beautiful face as he watched her move.  _Keeping his eye on his prey_.  Unconsciously, Brienne began to back away from him, moving unknowingly back to the bedroom. 

Just as Pod reached the doors and was attempting to slink away unnoticed, Jaime called to him over his shoulder, “And tell Ser Addam no one is supposed to bother Lord Jarod and his bride.” The sound of the door slamming hard enough to force the bar to fall over the handles, effectively locking the entrance, caused Brienne to jump.  _Gods, she was alone with the lion_.


	13. Leave Me With Some Kind Of Proof It's Not A Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took much longer to finish this up, but I am updating now with the second to last chapter instead of the last! I ended up fighting with what I had written and so I came up with something else entirely. But the last chapter is almost done so hopefully that will be up soon as well.
> 
> Thank you to everyone that waited and is still willing to read this! I hope you guys like this!!!!
> 
> Coraleeveritas is just the most amazing and patient beta ever! I must have sent her this chapter ten times and I would never have been happy with the J/B feels if it were not for her expertise. So, this chapter title is dedicated to you since it is a line from a Paramore song. ;)

The Future

Even six moons after Brienne's arrival, it always took a moment for Jaime to figure out which bed he was in.  Whether he was in the plush feather mattress that consumed the bedroom of Lord Jarod’s chambers or in the simple, small pallet that was in the hidden wing of Jaime’s manse, his wife was always curled around him.  They still rose before the sun, an act ingrained from their years of fighting, but who would wake first changed.  Jaime relished the days he could steal moments watching Brienne’s settled face.  During her waking hours, he had discovered many ways to make her frown and smile and lust but the natural fall of her muscles during slumber made her look content, a new expression he had begun to desire placing on her features. 

The soft fabric of the tunic she wore rubbed against his bare chest, the warmth of her own body making him move to wake her with soft kisses.  He felt her slow heartbeat through where their flesh was pressed together and his own heart stirred to doggedly follow.  His fingertips ghosted across her waist, falling to follow the line of her long leg that was languidly slung over his hips, lips tracing her strong jaw.  When Jaime remembered that Brienne only wore the tunic, his hand grasping bare, firm flesh in its travels, he wrapped his right arm tighter around her, groaning into her neck.  There had been many pleasures of having Brienne bound to him at last, but Jaime had never dreamt that his greatest joy would come from trying to bundle her vulnerable and hard naked body into his while they slept.

“Jaime…” Brienne sighed, her heartbeat speeding up as she opened her eyes.  He could not recall, after all of these years together, how many times she had said his name, but he had begun counting each new honeyed moan his name had become when they were alone as husband and wife and Brienne allowed him past her walls. Her body stretched and shuddered, almost squirming off the pallet as she immediately awoke, another habit of a knight.  To his delight she returned to rest beside him, her large hands skittering across his golden chest, abdomen, and arms.  She smiled as she watched his muscles twitch, following her teasing touch.  Jaime knew to lay still and let her roam, though she had long drawn a map of his body.  “Good morning.”

“It is if you keep doing that,” Jaime chuckled as she rubbed her thigh along his.  The tempo of her heart was coming faster, a sure sign of her arousal, but Jaime’s was already starting to race past hers.  He encouragingly nosed at her cheek so that she turned into his kiss, which was relaxed and sure for now.  The sweet taste of her lips had been a surprise to Jaime.  It contrasted with the saltiness of her skin, a flavor that he had come to imagine as the sea of Tarth.  He wanted to bask in the warm sands of her freckles and watch as her bright eyes became a deep ocean as their passions consumed them.

Brienne moaned slightly as her husband's tongue entered her mouth.  They were well past the initial curiosities and shyness, but Jaime still thrilled at making her blush.  Her face was burning hot now as he tasted her and stole a sudden grab at her bottom.  His hand quickly snaked beneath the tunic, before she could slap him away, to trace the deep scar on her back that Brienne had received from their rescue of Sansa.  Jaime idly thought that their moment alone in that clearing had been the beginning of his thoughts straying to the stubborn wench until she had all but dominated his dreams.

It was easy to recall his fantasies while Brienne left a trail of shy kisses as she slowly dragged herself away from him.  He was left to reminisce about his wife coming to his personal rooms the night before, the rhythm of their bodies chasing away the strains of the day.  Jaime opened one eye to watch her inspect the tunic she had thrown on sometime in the early morning when he had been too exhausted to feel her stir.  The shirt was tight in the shoulders and chest and Jaime felt a tug in his stomach when he recognized it as his own.  Brienne found where he had flung her clothes, trying to hide a small smile that stretched the scar on her cheek, gathered them up, and snuck behind the screen in the corner of the room. 

Jaime sighed, missing the sight of her muscled legs that were on full display for him underneath his short tunic.  He should have thrown that screen in the sea as soon as he had seen it.  It had been a wedding gift from Sansa, her note mentioning something about maintaining the mysteries of a lady even in the marriage chambers.  Brienne seemed relieved to have a place to hide from his lusting eyes so that she could dress in peace.  Jaime only found her modesty, even after their many nights wrapped together, to be more arousing.  Still, it had taken them months after their wedding to fully consummate the marriage.  Jaime had been fearful that his body would mistake the woman that was under him at first, but while his mind had strayed to Cersei in the year that he was apart from Brienne, in their marriage bed he floated in blue seas, happily whispering the only name that came to him.  It had eventually become torturous for them both when their reservations had melted away by the heat of fingers and mouths.  Jaime reveled now in the slow burn of his wife’s desire, knowing it was only for him and only he could set the fire inside of her.  He returned her need with his own, finding comfort in her trust and in the quickening of his heart at the sight and sound of her.  When he held Brienne, he was home, which was a solace they both clung to as their thoughts were filled with the uncertainty of their future and the pain of their past.

Throwing his hand and stump behind his head, soaking in the warmth from where Briene had lain, Jaime contemplated the moment he had seen her after a year of aching for her.  When he had received the message from Tyrion that a bride for Lord Jarod was already on a boat, heading for Pentos, his blood had smoldered and his mouth tasted ash as if there was a funeral pyre in his heart.  He raged as he had not done since he was an arrogant young knight and the sound of Jaime turning chairs and throwing cups had sent Addam Marbrand charging through his hidden chambers.  He had rounded on his childhood friend, blindly commanding him to do what Jaime refused.  The Dragon Queen and the Imp could send him a bride but they could not force him to touch her.  Addam had agreed to reveal himself as Lord Jarod to the girl and grinned when Jaime also demanded he bed her.

But that plan had crumbled to pieces at his feet and Jaime had no intention anymore of Addam touching his bride.  The moment he had spotted Brienne at the end of the dais, his heart had dropped and he knew then that Tyrion had no more love for him left if he sent her to escort the new Warden of the East.  The fury had abandoned him at the sight of her, leaving a hollow shell for him to drown in.  Finding her again had been more perfect than watching the sun finally rise after the Darkness, but the joy and relief had been momentary when he remembered she was not there for him.  In the instant before Sansa announced that Brienne was his betrothed, he had thought to steal her from her bed that night and they would both slip away like they should have done when he had been summoned to King’s Landing.  A part of him knew she would not have gone.  While Cersei had never left with him out of a lust for power, Brienne would not allow him to be anything less than the honorable knight she saw him as.  It would be her love for him that would have forced them both to stay and suffer.

Though the comprehension that Brienne would be allowed to finally be his had caused his knees to weaken, he had also become concerned with her reaction.  Perhaps the year apart had changed her feelings for him, while it had only caused his own to consume him like wildfire, realizing how desperately he wanted her.  What if she had begun a relationship with another man? What if she hated him for being alive? He had wondered if he was strong or selfless enough to let her go if she had not wanted him.

Brienne had wanted him, though.  The love in her beautiful eyes when she had seen his face was enough for Jaime to look forward to and dream of what the rest of his days would entail.  He had also seen the remnants of pain and uncertainty as well and he had tried to kiss them away.  There may be things that he would never be able to say to Brienne, but he would tell her every day that they belonged to each other and show her every night his need for her.  He would make her forget her concerns and the year without each other would only be like a nightmare that fades in the light of a new day.

Groaning, Jaime rolled out of the pallet and pulled up his breeches.  Not bothering to tie them, he took out a new tunic from the wardrobe.  By the time Brienne emerged from behind the screen, one of Jaime’s guards had allowed a servant to bring in breakfast.  The boy set out two plates, a tray of cheese and fruit, a bowl of eggs, and a cup of broth.  There was also a pitcher of wine for Jaime and a mug of the gods-awful tea for Brienne.  Jaime leaned over to sniff the broth, wrinkling his nose, thinking that it smelled worse than the moon tea Brienne was reaching for.

“How in the seven hells do you drink this, wench?” Jaime asked, gesturing to the broth.

Brienne made her own face as she tried to finish the tea in a few deep gulps.  She moaned her distaste and slid into the chair across from Jaime.  “It helps with the fever and pains,” she sighed.  “The maester says I am recovering well and should be fine in a week but I still have no appetite.”

Jaime reached out to cover Brienne’s large hand with his.  She wrapped her fingers around him and squeezed, acknowledging the concern in his emerald eyes by rolling her own sapphires.  A sickness had taken her days before, causing her to have to sit and sleep frequently, which had made her irritated as well.  Jaime had been adamant that she stay in Lord Jarod’s chambers to rest, but she had only agreed when he acquiesced to spending his nights there with her.  It was risky in case he was seen in her rooms, but Brienne was stubborn, even though she did not require him to take care of her.  Eventually, she could go about her day again without stopping and had begun to come to his own bed at night, berating him for trying to coddle her.  It did not take much arguing to persuade Jaime to continue their heated lovemaking, still moving as if they could make up for lost time.  He forced himself to remain gentle, though.

The moon tea that was sitting on the table was an issue that was not going away as quickly as his wife’s illness, however.  Despite his fears of his abilities as a father and the risk of loosing Brienne on the birthing bed, Jaime was beginning to view the tea as a personal affront to his enjoyable duty as a husband.  The idea of Brienne’s belly swelling with his child was beginning to become too enticing to deny, but Brienne did not seem to see the appeal.

“You want me to spend nine moons off a horse and without a sword in my hand?” she had asked.  “A child changes everything, Jaime, and what do you think people will say if we have some green eyed, golden haired child? Westeros will remember I was once called the Kingslayer’s whore.” Jaime had winced at that and Brienne had looked immediately regretful for her words.  “Be-besides,” she continued, turning away.  “There may be time someday.  I-I just…would like to have you for myself for a while.”

Jaime knew there was more to it than that, but he also heard the truth behind her words.  He could not argue and he hoped she would remember how he trusted her decisions when she found out he had been keeping something from her. 

They broke their fast, discussing the tasks of the day, the relaxation of waking next to one another was locked away in their hearts as they shouldered the weight of their duties once more.  Addam, dressed in the armor of Lord Jarod, was to accompany Brienne to the training fields while she chose new members of the knights of the Free Cities to begin the blanket of reign of all of Essos under the Wardens of the East.  It had been a request from some of their advisors who had spoken to them of the tensions between the cities and the need for a firm justice system.  Though they only had a few knights and the charge of employing members from each city equally was delaying the matter, Jaime and Brienne both felt a need to finalize decisions and take greater control Essos before they were to receive an unexpected and unwanted visitor.  A ship had come with letters for them from Westeros, one of which had been from Tyrion, announcing his arrival in the Free Cities for the first time since the Darkness.  Brienne had decided she would let the brothers discuss what was needed to be said, whether it was political matters or familial issues, since she was still undecided about her feelings towards Tyrion.  Jaime had rarely requested for Brienne to be by his side, but he had been disappointed for the first time in his promise to respect her choices.  He wished he could make her stay with him when he faced his brother.

He made up some excuse about needing the day to complete correspondence before Tyrion’s arrival, thinking it was not an absolute lie.  Normally Brienne would have noticed the deception, but she seemed eager to avoid the topic of his brother and accepted his answer readily.  She stood up to leave, moving in to kiss him as she always did.  Jaime relished this part of their day because it had become a ritual that she had initiated and continued to perform, even though her ears would turn to a Lannister red.  But he was the one to pull her into his lap, ignoring the heavy weight on his knee, and run his tongue across her teeth.  She choked back a chuckle, pushing away after landing an open mouthed kiss on the spot behind his ear that she, and no one else, had found.

 

Summertime in Pentos brought sudden and harsh downpours and this morning not even a scrap of sky could be seen above the rumbling grey clouds.  Jaime threw on a heavy cloak and sturdy boots, leaving his sword at their bedside.  He put his hood up, trying to tuck away golden locks and silently cursing his weakness to allow Brienne to take away the hair dye.

When he left his chamber, the Yunkai’i guard next to the door followed him through the corridors of the manse.  Brienne had tried to be friendly with them at first, but quickly gave up any effort when her polite conversations were met with silence.  Jaime regarded his armed escorts as a reminder that his life was no longer his own.  He had not felt particularly grateful to the Dragon Queen for keeping his head on his shoulders since there were fates worse than death, as the girl well knew.  He had not trusted her when he met her in Braavos with Brienne years ago, but the wench had seen only the Mother and Freer of Slaves.  It was just recently that she was beginning to know the ruthless and egotistical young woman that was lurking beneath the titles.

The guard continued to follow him out into the streets.  Jaime ambled down the pleasant paths alone, the rain driving away most of the people.  He kept to the cover of the trees and jutting roofs in an attempt to keep dry, but he did not hurry, nor try to escape the view of his guard.  The Yunkai’i would stay well back so it did not appear he was following Jaime and there was no fear he would recognize who it was Jaime was meeting.

Suddenly, a tiny but strong hand shot out of an alcove and pulled him under the lip of a roof.  It led Jaime down onto a bench so that he was nose to nose with a Summer Islander boy no more than two and ten.  Dark, knowing eyes regarded him and Jaime found himself doubting if he should have trusted the note that had slid under his door while Brienne was ill.  He attempted to hide his unease through his usual cocky grin that belied a confidence he was not feeling.  “How do I know it is you?”

“Me? I am no one,” came the automatic reply.  He wished Brienne was here.  She had always been able to see through the disguise, but Jaime could only make out a young boy with skin so dark he felt like he was looking at shadows.  When he said nothing, the boy rolled his eyes and threw back Jaime’s smile at him.  “On Dragonstone, you got so mushy missing Brienne that you drank yourself to oblivion and sang the Bear and the Maiden Fair over and over again like it was some sort of love song.  You made me swear never to tell her.”

Jaime seized the boy’s arm roughly, not caring that the guard lounging across the way could see.  “What the hells are you doing here, Arya? How did you know? Sansa-“

“I followed her and Brienne here after Ser Daavos sent word of Brienne’s betrothal,” Arya replied, shaking off his hand.  “I was going to kill Lord Jarod if Brienne was not happy and make it look like a sickness.  I do not know why, but she seemed pleased it was you.  So, I went back home.”

“And why have you come back? This is a dangerous game you are playing.” Jaime had been amused at Arya’s reckless behavior when they had tracked down Aegon Targaryen together, but he had never trusted her with his secrets.  Now she held the power to harm not only himself, but Brienne as well.  Though Jaime wanted to believe in her more than he would his brother, he felt more distinctly like the traitorous lion when he was around the young wolf, even though he could not discern any features that marked the boy as Arya.

She snorted as if sensing his concerns.  “You are not going to like this...I am here because Tyrion is on his way and it is not for a pleasant visit to the Free Cities, which we all know he loves so much.”

“I am not ignorant of my brother’s motives,” Jaime frowned.  He knew that Tyrion’s visit was not one for pleasure.  He was not sure he wanted to know what would cause Arya to come back across the Narrow Sea as well.  She had tried to kill him the last time they were both in the Free Cities.  “How do you know about them, though?”

“We have ways-“

“We?” Jaime did not like how deep this was going.  He had a notion to find Brienne and make sure she was safe.

“Tyrion is coming to bring you back to King’s Landing, Jaime.  You, not Lord Jarod.”

Jaime blinked.  He had become too immersed in court politics to catch up with the complexities of the game of thrones.  Arya suggested coming out of hiding would be problematic.  Why would his brother wish him harm now and what would force him to travel here to do it himself? He could only assume that Tyrion’s presence as a power behind the throne was required, which would either be a display of unity if Jaime was to be revealed or it would be a sure sign of the Dragon’s Queen’s abandonment of him.  The continual support from King’s Landing was bound to wan at some point and Jaime had no doubt this was the moment he had been dreading.  “Daenerys wants to pull me from the seat as warden.”

“Close.” Arya showed her teeth in an attempt at a smile.  “She is going to pull _all_ the wardens.  Arianne thinks it is an endeavor to put dissenting factions at ease by replacing you with lords of greater support but inferior strength.  Or something.”

_Gods_.  The peace they had all fought for would be reforged with lesser steel if the women of Westeros were removed. “Arianne? Is this the ‘we’?”

“You are not focusing on the important parts!” Arya huffed.  “Yes, we.  Me and the other wardens have been receiving whispers of a power struggle.  Yanking the wardens from their seats is exactly what these hidden enemies want.  Tyrion is feeding paranoia to Daenerys and he will use revealing you to be a cause for dissension to finally explode in Westeros.  Daenerys will have no other choice but to unseat the others as well to regain faith and ensure that she still holds power.”

“What do you want me to do, refuse my brother and the queen?”

“No.” Arya sat up straight and her gaze dared him to question her demand.  “You must reveal yourself as Warden of the East.  Now.  In Pentos.  Let the Free Cities adopt you…and protect you.”

Jaime should have laughed or sneered.  A part of him still desired to toss some joke into the sodden air and let it fall at their feet.  He wanted to walk away and ignore the danger and refuse the responsibility.  The moment passed when his thoughts strayed to the risk he would be putting his wife in.  “And why would Essos fight for the Kingslayer?”

“Many battled next to us when you were Goldenhand,” Arya shrugged.  “And many more love Brienne enough that they see her as the true warden.  The news of your first child together-“

“Does little good if I am to reveal myself now,” Jaime sighed. 

Arya shifted slightly so that she was not in reach of Jaime’s left hand.  “Brienne is already pregnant.” 


	14. Come Morning Light, You and I'll Be Safe and Sound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the end! I wrote this story to sate my own J/B desires and I decided to post it because I hoped it would be an entertaining distraction before Season 4 begins. I lost some of my confidence along the way and the support of the reviewers spurned me to continue and finish. This became an ode to you all. I cannot thank you enough for your kind words!!!! So I really hope this ending is satisfactory!
> 
> One of the best things to come from this has been becoming more familiar with some of the other J/B shippers. I am also able to take away a kindred spirit in Coraleeveritas. This story would have never been completed nor would I have been at all pleased with it were it not for the most wonderful beta ever! I am so happy to have written this because it is how I met you. Thank you thank you thank you!!!
> 
> At the end of this chapter are the songs that correspond to the titles of all of the chapters and were my inspiration and theme for each part. I had to stop myself from making every one from a Florence and the Machine song.

The Future

Jaime narrowed his eyes, an urge to strangle the image of the boy rising like bile in his throat.  When would he and Brienne stop becoming pieces to move around the board? It was a thought that had continuously plagued him over the years, when the Darkness had not occupied the powers in Westeros, but recently, he had come to realize the answer to his question: _When you have nothing left to hide_. 

Arya continued hurriedly, “It was my idea, Jaime.  Sansa does not even know what I have done.”

“The moon tea…” he moaned.  There was a part of him that still held hope that he had not been tricked into another plot, but Jaime could feel the walls that had felt so far away a moment ago rise like icebergs and surround the peace he had tried to hide himself in.

“Just some terribly tasting herbs I found,” she shrugged, waving a hand dismissively.  “After all, Brienne would not know what moon tea tastes like.”

 _No, no, no.  She was supposed to want to have my child.  Not like this._   “The maester prepares the tea for her.”

“He is one of mine,” Arya replied.  Her dark eyes softened and for the first time since Jaime had met Arya the assassin, he saw some guilt and pity in her stolen face.  “He has been watching and taking care of her during her sickness.  As soon as he knew for sure she has been ill because of her pregnancy, I came.”

The fire of his anger was washing up against the icy shores of his fear.  He swallowed, trying to make sense of the ramifications of not only Arya’s actions, but Tyrion’s role as well.  “If my brother is truly trying to unseat us all and I will be used as a means to start war, they will take my child from me.  You have condemned Brienne and I, Arya.”

The remorseful glance was immediately drowned in Jaime’s accusations, forcing the body of the boy to sit up taller and regard him with a cold stare.  Jaime had learned long ago that the wolf still stirred in the Stark girl.  He had watched as the playful, willful child would disappear behind eyes as frigid as the Darkness and they held no sympathy now.  “I am saving us all.  You would not have done what I need you to unless you had something to truly loose.  You may not care about remaining a warden but you will care about that baby.”

“And what if this still does not work and the city guard cuts us down?”

“They will not!  You have created an _army_.  There are knights all over the Free Cities, answering only to the Wardens of the East.  Essos will rally under you to keep some control of their lands from the mother that has abandoned them for some throne across the sea.  They will not stand for Daenerys naming yet another, especially when your heir is already in Brienne’s belly.  Announce yourself at court today, infront of your wife and Tyrion and Pentos and you will not be alone.  The other wardens are on their way.”

Jaime snorted.  He was beginning to wonder if it truly was Arya since she was throwing practiced lines at him that sounded more like her romantic sister.  “The women have come so that we may all die together?”

“So that unity is still evident in the powers that be! I get you are worried, but, listen, if the court turns on you, I will steal Brienne away and keep her in hiding.  I swear to you, she will live.”

Though Jaime did not want to admit it, he knew Brienne would refuse to leave his side again, child or no.  But the promise of her safety was enough and Arya had made sure that he had no choice but to do as she says or else risk loosing his child.  “If we survive this, you had best stay clear of my wife.  She has a foul temper and a sharp blade.”

The Summer Islander boy let out a breath he had been holding and crawled back in order to quickly slip into the shadows of the alcove.  “She will understand.  Tell her…tell her the boy in the roots said that she will have blue eyes, like her mother.” With that haunting piece of information, Jaime let Arya disappear into the walls of Pentos.

He was left sitting alone on the bench, feeling the hum of the sound of rain pattering on the tiled roof, the smell of the moist trees lingering like a perfume in the air, and the hazy sight of the city he had tried to call home.  His senses were overloaded with everything that he had tried to push away as his body willed itself to absorb the impact of Arya’s words.  Jaime recalled long ago, standing on the Wall with Brienne before the sun set for good, listening while she recounted a dream of warning from a boy with crow’s eyes, trapped beneath a tree.  He was swallowing hard to try to remove the lump in his throat, blinking his eyes to clear his watery vision.  A daughter.  _Another daughter_.  But she would be truly his this time.  He grinned and pushed off of the bench, making his way determinedly to the Capital.

 

Pod was helping Jaime into Lord Jarod’s armor in the chambers off of the throne room when Brienne entered.  She was dressed all in blue again, even her leather jerkin had been dyed a deep midnight color.  The memory of seeing her arrive in Pentos, clothed in blue, eyes staring intently only at him, sent a wash of comfort through Jaime’s rolling insides and he could not help but look towards her stomach, hoping to find signs of the life they had made.  Together.

“I thought we had decided that you would meet Tyrion privately,” she said as a way of greeting.  Jaime could feel her annoyance, but she still moved Pod aside so that she could finish dressing Jaime herself.  As her warm fingers brushed across his skin and her breath caressed his neck, Jaime had a desire to take the mother of his child one last time before their world was altered once more.

“Matters have changed, Brienne,” he replied carefully, watching her reaction to his words.  “I am going to make an announcement to the court and to Tyrion.  But I need to know that you will stand with me, no matter what happens, and that you will keep Oathkeeper close, too.”

Brienne continued lacing his gauntlet, though she pulled tighter than was necessary.  She did not meet his eyes, seeming intent on her task while she chewed her lip, fighting to keep back the remarks about secrecy and recklessness that would spew from her mouth if she opened it.  Jaime moved his right arm to tilt her chin up so that he could see the sapphires she would give to their daughter.  He smiled in assurance and brushed his mouth over hers in attempt to soothe and distract her.  Brienne responded by biting his bottom lip and licking away the sudden, sharp pain.  _Gods, this is not helping to extinguish my arousal_. 

“I trust you,” she finally said.  Her own eyes were darkening as her fingers sought the little bits of his body that were still exposed.  “But after this, no more secrets.”

“No more secrets,” Jaime promised, feeling for the first time what a relief a vow could bring.  “Now hand me that helm and try to remember how much you love me.”

By the time the Wardens of the East stood on the dais, the court of Pentos, composed of the representatives of the Free Cities and counselors of Essos, had been assembled and Jaime’s brother was standing in front of the marble steps, flanked by two members of Daenerys’s Queensguard.  Tyrion appeared amused about the change of plans, but Jaime noted the twitch of his lips, indicating his displeasure.  _Good_. 

In the confines of the headpiece, Jaime had to turn his neck completely to see Brienne at his side, holding his left hand.  She was gazing out at the crowd, her search skimming over the faces that she recognized, nodding her head to acknowledge those that sought out her attention.  Her stout frame tensed as she settled on a new face.  Jaime watched as her brow creased and her mouth opened.  “Is that…” _So at least Arya is here._

“People of Pentos,” Jaime began, looking away from his wife but feeling the heat from her stare through the armor.  “We have been honored with a much awaited guest! Lord Tyrion, your presence in Essos has been sorely missed.  We humbly invite you, as envoy to the Mother of Dragons to enjoy what is hers and bring her pleasant news of her children across the Narrow Sea.”

Tyrion grinned menacingly.  In all of Jaime’s years as his brother, he had never been able to be a step ahead of Tyrion when it came to politics.  He tried to bask in the surprise that Tyrion was in for, before his own head would be lopped off.  “Her Grace will be relieved to know firsthand that the people of the Free Cities are thriving.  She regrets her absence and wishes that my visit will be the first of many for myself and also with the queen.  I bring a gift as well, a piece of Westeros to hang in the court of the Capitol.” Tyrion gestured to servants hovering by the guards.  They rushed forward, unfurling a tapestry depicting a battle scene in the Darkness, three dragons shooting flames into the sky that melted together to become the rising sun.  Jaime wanted to laugh.  _Needlework and the Imp will not make the people fall back in love with their mother.  Brienne and I are the only power that they bend the knee to now and I have inadvertently distanced myself from the child queen long ago when I had to refuse to make the voyage to King’s Landing._   Tyrion’s presence and the weak attempt to place a reminder of the west in the Capitol would only serve to make it appear that Daenerys had to placate Jaime and come to him.

“It is a beautiful cloth,” Jaime replied loudly, hoping his voice reached the ear of every wealthy man and woman in the hall.  “But Pentos already has its own piece of Westeros.” He pulled his hand from Brienne’s just as she begun to move in front of him, sensing what he was to do next.  Jaime stepped to the side and wrenched off the helm, tossing it down the marble steps to land at Tyrion’s feet.

Jaime paused as the representatives took in his face.  Those who did not recognize him whispered to others, questioning the gasps and murmurs that swelled like a wave, moving from the counselors close to him and crashing against the crowd in the back.  He caught some mumbles of “Kingslayer” and “Lannister”, but “Goldenhand” seemed to have surfaced from the tide of disbelief like a lifeline.  Brienne was clinging to his arm now, trying to hiss warnings and pleading in his ear.  He was not listening, but he shook his head anyway at what he knew was escaping her mouth faster than her breaths and tried to shake his hand from her grasp.  He was letting the court recover from the shock while he studied the face of his brother.  Tyrion simply crossed his arms and smiled at him, seeming to enjoy the display and not showing a single sign of the satisfactory surprise that Jaime had been praying for.  Perhaps Arya and the other wardens had not been as secretive as they had thought and Jaime began to wonder about the source of the whispers that had reached the women.

“Queen Daenerys spared my life and faked my death because of the revenge that Westeros sought against the Kingslayer,” Jaime roared above the din, pulling his eyes away from his brother. “But here in the Free Cities, I am just a man.  Here I have served the people faithfully.  Here is my home and my people, who have never deserved to be ruled by a faceless shell.  I swear that Her Grace has not been my puppeteer and that it is I who has been honored to be Essos’s voice these years.  I beg you now to look upon the man that has served you and continue to allow me to do so.”

“The Lady Brienne…” one of the Lyseni counselors began.

“Only knew of my identity upon our wedding day, but she married me willingly.  Our union is one of love.” Jaime squeezed into Brienne’s palm, turning to smile at her.  She held his fingers so hard that he wanted to laugh at the fear of loosing his remaining hand to her grip.  She did not return the smile, nor could she hide the terror and dismay that flashed across her face when her features were hidden from the court. 

The name dancing along the marble of the room had shifted to that of “Lady Oathkeeper”.  Jaime hoped that Brienne’s faith in him swayed some of the representatives to accept him as well.  “The queen may have seated me,” Jaime continued.  “But now I ask for your votes to allow me to remain.  I swear to continue to rule in the interests of the people of the Free Cities and no other.  This is where I have found peace, where I have taken the only woman I would ever want, where our child will be raised…” Jaime extracted his hand so that he could cup Brienne’s stomach and he could swear he felt a small bump on the typically hard plain of her abdomen. 

The rumble of muttering burst like a thunder clap.  Brienne tried to push away his hand, anger clouding her blue eyes as she seemed to have assumed he was lying about a potential heir to gather favor.  Jaime snaked his right arm around her waist to pull her closer.  He kissed her ear before whispering, “That boy you dreamed about so long ago wanted us to know he saw our little girl.  She will have blue eyes, Brienne.”

She was shaking under his arms, staring at him still with fear, and Jaime found he had to support her weight.  “How…?”

At that moment, the doors to the throne room opened and in walked the other wardens, followed by their own guards and advisors.  Jaime was pleased to find Ser Daavos Seaworth and Sandor Clegane flanking Sansa Stark.  He did not appreciate the sight of Hyle Hunt, however.  He had not forgotten the man’s attempts at Brienne after Jaime had been sent to Pentos.

There was a presence behind Jaime and he found Addam and Pod standing behind his chair.  The court seemed to also sense the shift in the marble room as the West appeared suddenly.  Jaime held Brienne tighter, unsure of how this would alter the tide of whispers and tried to find Arya in the crowd once more.

Arianne spoke up, her sweet voice carrying commandingly to the high arches of the ceiling.  “Westeros will respect the decision of the Free Cities, but the South stands behind Jaime Lannister.” The presence of the wardens was only required to voice their support for Jaime as their equal.  If they attempted to sway the court or try to remain too long as a display of pressure, the pride and independence of the people of Essos could well push their decision away from the desires of the west.  Jaime was relieved that the women seemed to understand enough to keep their statements short.

“The Far West welcomes back Goldenhand,” Asha barked, arms folded and seemingly unwilling to speak more.

“The North remembers,” Sansa hailed regally.  “But what of Her Grace, Lord Tyrion? As her envoy to the East now, what say you?”

Tyrion did not appear in the least disturbed by his position.  He was not looking at Jaime, though, his blue and green eyes lingering on the hand that still clutched Brienne’s stomach.  “The queen will honor the choice of Essos.  I look forward to the generations of lions in Pentos, brother.” With that, he stepped back so that he stood amongst the other wardens and their retinue.  Asha eyed him warily, thumbing her dirk, but Sansa rested a delicate hand on his shoulder, forcing Ser Daavos and the Hound to frown.

There was a moment of silence in which Jaime could only hear the faint hum of murmurs as the representatives spoke amongst themselves.  Some openly pointed at Tyrion or at Brienne, while others stared at the circle of wardens that stood at the base of the dais.  As the tension flowed through the throne room, drowning the court and rising up to the darkened rafters, it burst as a Volatene counselor shouted “The Lion of the East”.  Others took up the call while some more chanted “Lady Oathkeeper” and “Goldenhand” again.  Jaime watched as a handful of the representatives slipped silently through the open doors.  He had expected to loose Lorath and Tyrosh, along with many coastal towns.  Those that left, however, glanced at the knights of the Free Cities, who stood at the entrance, most likely wondering if their dissension would cause more men of the wardens to pour through their gates.  Jaime did not expect that those that fled would be an issue and it appeared he was still to be Warden of the East.

Jaime turned to stare down Tyrion until his brother looked at him.  He jerked his head towards the door that led to his chambers and, pulling a heavy Brienne, made his way out of the throne room, hoping that Tyrion would follow.

When the guards shut the door, enclosing them within warm stone that only whispered with the commotion that was still sending the representatives of the Free Cities in upheaval, Jaime regarded the Imp.  “How much did you know?”

“Why, brother, you wound me,” Tyrion rolled his eyes.  When they stopped their circuit in his scarred face, he was looking at Brienne.  “I knew that little assassin was cunning but I did not think she had it in her to plant a lion in your belly, Brienne.  I will have to employ her at King’s Landing.”

“I should have stabbed you with that cheese knife back in my cell,” Brienne snapped.  She wrenched her hand from Jaime’s grasp and stood back from the both of them.  “Lannisters…”

“I promised no more secrets after this, remember?” Jaime spoke up hastily before Tyrion outwitted his wife until she dissolved into a string of threats.  “I received a note from Arya a week ago and went today to find out for myself how she discovered me and what she wanted.  You were still recovering from your illness and I did not want to unduly disturb you.”

“That excuse will grow wearisome for the next seven months,” Tyrion piped up.

Jaime rounded on him.  He wanted to feel consumed with anger and hurt, but he had learned long ago that he could not call up those emotions so easily with his brother anymore.  Though Tommen and Myrcella were still safe in the west and his wife shifted uneasily a short distance from them, Tyrion was now the only person who understood all of him, including the man that Brienne had only experienced a taste of.  They had wronged each other at so many turns that Jaime could only feel dizzy and tired when he stared down at his brother.  He sighed, taking a knee so that they were at the same level.  “Must we play this game until we are both dead, Tyrion? Will you continue it in the seven hells?”

Tyrion snorted.  “Both of us have learned long ago that there can be no fate worse than life.”

“You led Arya here and forced the warden’s hands,” Jaime murmured, no longer uncertain of the warden’s anonymous source.  “The queen would have no choice but to start picking us off in order to quell a rebellion so you forced us to create our own.  After today, if she gives in to the antagonists, she will have to face forces from all sides.  Now all she can do is to allow us to keep our seats and find another way to deal with the dissenters, a decision I am sure you will help her to make.”

“You are forgetting that your babe sets precedent now,” Tyrion laughed.  “Essos seems to like the idea of an heir to take up the seat.”

“Is this how you show love, goodbrother?” Brienne asked.  She sounded overwhelmed and weary, but her fury had quelled as she stood witness to the paths the two brothers were setting for themselves.  “When do we stop becoming a means to an end?”

“When it ends,” Tyrion replied.  For a moment, his features were cast in hard stone, but then he broke the visage by sighing and scratching the skin where his nose should have been.  “Are you not tired, Brienne? We have been through war and peace together, but the game has never stopped.  I play it like I breath, but you two seem to keep floundering and gasping for air.  If you consider yourselves pieces for me to move, then take this as my attempt to pull you from the board.” Jaime placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder, forcing his attention back on him.  Tyrion offered a lopsided smile that would have fit just as well on Jaime’s face and placed his small fingers on Jaime’s wrist.  “Send the child to me later on.  It will need to learn how to play _cyvasse_ from one as skilled as me.”

Jaime watched as Tyrion pushed through the wooden door, the rush of the excitement in the throne room churned in the quiet hallway and was swept back out again as the door swung slowly closed.  He waited until the sight of his brother’s back was lost and thought that this was most likely the last time he would ever see him.

The sound of Brienne’s fading footsteps caused him to turn around.  He followed her to their rooms, watching the taut muscles of her shoulders shift as she clenched and unclenched her fists.  She did not speak as she opened the door, nor did she look in his eyes as he closed it and bolted it shut.  Her hands were still steady as she wordlessly began to remove his armor.  There were no tender caresses or shivers of delight as she bared him for her touch.  She was stiff and harsh, but Jaime simply knew to let her thoughts play out in her mind, waiting for her to find what she wanted to say while fearing her rejection of their child.

“I have barely become to trust myself as a wife,” she sighed, rubbing her hands on her firm thighs when she was done.  “I have been trying to find myself again these past months.  It feels different now, holding Oathkeeper and training with the knights after I have spent the evening with you.” Jaime could not stop himself from reaching out to take her hand as she averted her gaze and had the decency to blush, thinking about their nights together.  “I am a fighter and I am also a woman.  That has not changed, obviously.  But I _feel_ how much of a woman I am especially when I fight these days.  So, what will happen now that I cannot do what I have always done? When I can _only_ be a woman? How can I keep my strength if something happens to…her? Or me?” She looked at him then and he realized what she was saying.  He wondered himself how he was going to put up his wall again and laugh at her innocence and fumbling, swallowing his own fears or feeling the need to quell hers.  He did not think that he could wake up and glare at his stump, using it as a symbol of the harshness of life.  He was not able to dwell on much besides the freeing notion that all of the Free Cities must now know that Brienne of Tarth was married to Jaime Lannister and carried his child.  There were no more lies and no more places to hide.  He had stepped out beyond what he had known with Cersei and what he had been so fearful he would fall back into with Brienne, confusing their embraces and their motives.  But there were only sapphires now.

“Wife, I need not remind you of how much of a woman you are,” Jaime said, smiling as her eyes narrowed at him.  “And I have enough scars, wench, to show you that at times I am convinced you are the Warrior reborn.  So, what makes you think you will be anything less when you are a mother as well…Brienne?”

She was in his arms then, large and poking out in all the places he could not contain her.  When her scarred check pressed to the stubble on his chin, Jaime felt a warm dampness on their skin and he was not sure if it came from her or from him. “If you are anything of a father as you have been as a husband, then she will grow up to be terribly spoiled.”

“And if you are as hard of a mother as you are a wife, I will be limping,” Jaime laughed.  He brushed back a rough strand of straw hair, exposing her face to him.  Before he could tilt his head to kiss her, Brienne leaned in, trembling slightly, as she ran her lips along his jaw, trailing familiar warmth to capture his lips.  She sighed, one hand ghosting across his stump and the other tracing his collarbone.  Jaime chuckled breathlessly, pulling away to ask, “You are not too disappointed about starting a family this early, then?”

Brienne studied his eyes, searching for something he was afraid he could not give her, watching as her own sapphires were floating in crystal tears.  She placed her hands gently on her stomach and tried a coy smile, her buck teeth sucking on her plump lips and Jaime did not wonder how she had become pregnant in such a short time, moon tea or no.  “I suppose we will have to make the most of the next months alone together.”

Jaime planned to waste no more time.

             

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 1 Mumford and Sons: Awake My Soul  
> CHAPTER 2 Florence and the Machine: Cosmic Love  
> CHAPTER 3 Coldplay: Fix You  
> CHAPTER 4 Florence and the Machine: No Light No Light  
> CHAPTER 5 Florence and the Machine: Heavy In Your Arms  
> CHAPTER 6 Imagine Dragons: Radioactive  
> CHAPTER 7 Mumford and Sons: White Blank Page  
> CHAPTER 8 Muse: Madness  
> CHAPTER 9 Death Cab for Cutie: Cath  
> CHAPTER 10 Jimmy Eat World: Polaris  
> CHAPTER 11 Christina Perri: Arms  
> CHAPTER 12 Radical Face: Welcome Home  
> CHAPTER 13 Paramore: The Only Exception  
> CHAPTER 14 Taylor Swift and the Civil Wars: Safe and Sound

**Author's Note:**

> All comments will be hugged.  
> LOVE


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